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GLOSSARY. 


Latin and French Phrases and Expressions. 


Abacus. As used by Scott, the staff of office of the Grand Master of 
the Knights Templars. 

A la rescouse. To the rescue. 

Auferte malum ex vobis. Eemove evil from you. 

Ave. A prayer to the Virgin — from the opening words, “Ave Ma 
HaiL Mary.” 

Benedicite, mes filz. Bless you, my sons. ■ 

Cave adsum. Beware, I am here. | , 

Clericus clericum non decimat. Priest does not tax priest. 

Confiteor. I confess. 

Credo. The Apostles^ Creed. The first words of the Latin version; . 
are “Credo in Deum.” 

Cri de guerre. War cry. 

De Civitate Dei. Of the City of God — title of a book by St. Au- 
gustine. 

De Commilitonibus Templi in sacra civitate, etc. Concerning the 
Knights of the holy order of the Temple who associate with 
abandoned women. 1 

De lectione literarum. Concerning the reading of letters, \ 

Demi-courbette. A half leap (of a horse). 

De osculis fugiendis. Concerning the avoiding of kisses. 

De profundis clamavi. Out of the depths I have cried. 

Despardieux. By the gods. 

Deus faciat salvam benignitatem vestram. God bless your good- 
ness. 

Deus vobiscum. God be with you. 

En avant. Forward! 

En croupe. Behind the rider. 

Et vobis; quaeso, domine reverendissime, pro misericordia 
vestra. And with you; I beg, most reverend master, for your 
pity. V; 

Exceptis excipiendis. Exceptions being excepted. 

Excommunicabo vos. I will excommunicate you. 

Faire le moulinet. Bo the windmill — a game of quarter-staff be- 
tween the Miller and Gurth. 

Faites vos devoirs, preux chevaliers. Do your duty, gallant 
knights. 

Fiat voluntas tua. Thy will be done. 

Fructus Temporum. Fruit of the times (a book title). 

Gare, le corbeau. Beware, the raven! 

Inter res sacras. Among sacred things. 


486 


GLOSSARY. 


Invenientur vigilantes. Let them be found watching. 

Lac acidum. Sour milk. Lac dulce. Sweet milk, 

Laissez aller. Let go ; off ! 

La Royne de la Beaulte et des Amours. Queen of Beauty and Love. 
Latro famosus. Notorious robber. 

Manus imponere in servos Domini. To lay hands upon the ser- 
vants of the liord. 

Mort de ma vie. Death of my life. 

Mot (uio, zvord). Ancient name for notes upon a bugle. 

Mount joye St. Denis. A French battle-cry. 

^'^•'bulo quidam. A good for nothing fellow. 

)men illis legio. Their name is legion. 

(bliette. A secret dungeon. 

:er. A prayer; so called from the first word in the Lord^s Prayer 
in Latin — Pater means father, 

^ax vobiscum. Peace be with you. 

Propter necessitatem et frigus depellendum. Of necessity and to 
r drive off the cold. 

Quare fremuerunt gentes. Why do the heathen rage? 

Quod nullus juxta ipropriam voluntatem incedat. That no one 
shall walk by his own will. 

Rex delectabitur pulchritudine tua. The King shall delight in thy 
beauty. 

Si qClis, suadente diabolo. If any one, led by the devil, 
ut fugiantur oscula. That kisses must be avoided. 

Ut leo semper feriatur. That the lion may always be thrust down. 
Ut omnium mulierum fugiantur oscula. That the kisses of all 
women be shunned. 

Vae victis. Woe to the conquered. 

Venite, exultemus Domino. Come, let us rejoice in the Lord. 
Vinum laetificat cor hominis. Wine maketh glad the heart of man. 


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IVANHOE. 


3 


consequences of defeat. The power had been completely 
placed in the hands of the Norman nobility, by the event of 
the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, as our histories 
assure us, with no moderate hand. The whole race of 
Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or disin- 
herited, with few or no exceptions; nor were the numbers 
great who possessed land in the country of their fathers, 
even as proprietors of the second, or of yet inferior classes. 
The royal policy had long been to weaken, by every means, 
legal or illegal, the strength of a part of the population 
which was justly considered as nourishing the most in- 
veterate antipathy to their victor. All the monarchs of 
the Norman race had shown the most marked predilection 
for their Norman subjects; the laws of the chase, and 
many others, equally unknown to the milder and more free 

spirit of the Saxon constitution, had been fixed upon the 

necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to add weight, as it 

were, to the feudal chains with which they were loaded. 

At court, and in the castles of the great nobles, where the 
pomp and state of a court was emulated, Norman-French 
was the only language employed; in courts of law, the 
pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same 
tongue. In short, French was the language of honour, of 
chivalry, and even of justice, while the far more manly 
and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to the use of 
rustics and hinds,^ who knew no other. Still, however, the 
necessary intercourse between the lords of the soil, and 
those oppressed inferior beings by whom that soil was 
cultivated, occasioned the gradual formation of a dialect, 
compounded betwixt the French and the Anglo-Saxon, in 
which they could render themselves mutually intelligible 
to each other; and from this necessity arose by degrees the- 
structure of our present English language, in which the 
speech of the victors and the vanquished have been so 
happily blended! together; and which has since been so 
richly improved by importations from the classical lan- 
guages, and from those spoken by the southern nations 
of Europe. 

This state of things I have thought it necessary to prem- 

‘ farm hands. 


4 


IVANHOE. 


ise for the information of the general reader, who might 
be apt to forget, that, although no great historical events, 
such as war or insurrection, mark the existence of the 
Anglo-Saxons as a separate people subsequent to the reign 
of William the Second; yet the great national distinctions 
betwixt them and their conquerors, the recollection of what 
they had formerly been, and to what they were now re- 
duced, continued, down to the reign of Edward the Third, 
to keep open the wounds which the Conquest had inflicted, 
and to maintain a line of separation betwixt the descend- 
ants of the victor Normans and the vanquished Saxons. 

The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades 
of that forest, which we have mentioned in the beginning 
of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short-stemmed, 
wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the 
^stately march of the Eoman soldiery,^ flung their gnarled 
arms over a thick carpet of the most delicious greensward ; 
in some places they were intermingled with beeches, hollies, 
and copsewood of various descriptions, so closely as totally 
to intercept the level beams of the sinking sun; in others 
they receded from each other, forming those long sweeping 
vistas, in the intricacy of which* the eye delights to lose 
itself, while imagination considers them as the paths to yet 
wilder scenes of sylvan solitude. Here the red rays of the 
sun shot a broken and discolored light, that partially hung 
upon the shattered boughs , and mossy trunks of the trees, 
and there they illuminated in brilliant patches the portions 
of turf to Avhich they made their way. A considerable open 
space, in the midst of this glade, seemed formerly to have 
been dedicated to the rites of Druidical superstition^ ; for, 
on the summit of a hillock, so regular as to seem artificial, 
there still remained part of a circle of rough unhewn 
stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood upright; the rest 
had been dislodged from their places, probably by the zeal 
of some convert of Christianity, and lay, some prostrate 


^ The invasion of Britain by the Ro- 
mans began under Caesar in 55 b.c. 
The Roman occupation continued for 
more than four centuries. The Romans 
built roads, fortified towns, and estab- 
lished military posts throughout the 
country. Christianity was introduced, 


displacing Druidism. 

* The Druids were the priests of the 
Celts of Gaul and Britain. Their rites 
were held chiefly in oak groves. They 
venerated the mistletoe when growing 
on the oak. 


IVANHOE. 


5 


near their former site, and others on the side of the hill. 
One large stone only had found its way to the bottom, and 
in stopping the course of a small brook, which glided 
smoothly round the foot of the eminence, gave, by its op- 
position, a feeble voice of murmur to the placid and else- 
where silent streamlet. 

The human figures which completed this landscape, were 
in number two, partaking, in their dress and appearance, of 
that wild and rustic character, which belonged to the wood- 
lands of the West-Kiding of Yorkshire at that early period. 
The eldest of these men had a stern, savage, and wild 
aspect. His garment was of the simplest form imaginable, 
being a close jacket with sleeves, composed of the tanned 
skin of some animal, on which the hair had been originally 
left, but which had been worn off in so many places, that it 
would have been difficult to distinguish, from the patches 
that remained, to what creature the fur had belonged. 
This primeval vestment reached from the throat to the 
knees, and served at once all the usual purposes of body- 
clothing; there was no Wider opening at the collar, than 
was necessary to admit the passage of the head, from which 
it may be inferred, that it was put on by slipping it over 
the head and shoulders, in the manner of a modern shirt, 
or ancient hauberk.^ Sandals, bound with thongs made of 
boars’ hide, protected the feet, and a roll of thin leather 
was twined artificially round the legs, and, ascending above 
the calf, left the knees bare, like those of a Scottish High- 
lander. To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body, 
it was gathered at the middle by a broad leathern belt, 
secured by a brass buckle, to one side of which was attached 
a sort of scrip, and to the other a ram’s horn, accoutred 
with a mouthpiece, for the purpose of blowing. In the 
same belt was stuck one of those long, broad, sharp- 
pointed, and two-edged knives, with a buck’s-horn handle, 
which were fabricated in the neighbourhood, and bore even 
at this early period the name of a Sheffield whittle. The 
man had no covering upon his head, which was only de- 
fended by his own thick hair, matted and twisted together, 
and scorched by the influence of the sun into a rusty dark- 

* a medieval coat of mail formed of steel rings interlinked. 


6 


IVANHOE. 


red colour, forming a contrast with the overgrown beard 
upon his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amber hue. 
One part of his dress only remains, but it is too remark- 
able to be suppressed; it was a brass ring, resembling a 
dog’s collar, but without any opening, and soldered fast 
around his neck, so loose as' to form no impediment to his 
breathing, yet so tight as to be incapable of being removed, 
excepting by the use of the file. On this singular gorget^ 
was engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscription of the 
following purport: — ^‘Ourth, the son of Beowulph, is the 
born thrall of Cedric of Eotherwood.” 

I Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s occupation, 
was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments, 
a person about ten years younger in appearance, and whose 
dress, though resembling his companion’s in form, was of 
better materials, and of a more fantastic appearance. His 
jacket had been stained of a bright purple hue, upon which 
there had been some attempt to paint grotesque ornaments 
in different colours. To the jacket he adSM a sliort cloak^ 
which scarcely reached half-way down his thigh. It was 
of crimson cloth, though a good deal soiled, lined with 
bright yellow; and as he could transfer it from one shoulder 
to the other, dr at his pleasure draw it all around him, its 
width, contrasted with its want of longitude, formed a 
fantastic piece of drapery. He had thin silver bracelets 
upon his arms, and on his neck a collar of the same metal, 
bearing the inscription, ‘‘Wamba, the son of Witless, is the 
thrall of Cedric of Eotherwood.” This personage had the 
same sort of sandals with his companion, but instead of the 
roll of leather thong, his legs were cased in a sort of gaiters, 
of which one was red and the other yellow. He was pro- 
vided also with a cap, having around it more than one 
bell, about the size of those attached to hawks, which jingled 
as he turned his head to one side or other ; and as he seldom 
remained a minute in the same posture, the sound might 
be considered as incessant. Around the edge of this cap 
was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the top into open 
work, resembling a coronet, while a prolonged bag arose 

* a knight’s gorget was a neckband protecting his neck between the cuirass 
and the helmet. 


IVANHOE. 


7 


from within it, and fell down on one shoulder like an old- 
fashioned nightcap, or a jelly-bag, or the head-gear of a 
modern hussar. It was to this part of the cap that the bells 
were attached; which circumstance, as well as the shape 
of his head-dress, and his own half-crazed, half-cunning 
expression of countenance, sufficiently pointed him out as 
belonging to the race of domestic clowns or jesters, main- 
tained in the houses of the wealthy, to help away the tedium 
of those lingering hours which the}'’ were obliged to spend 
within doors. He bore, like his companion, a scrip, at- 
tached to his belt, but had neither horn nor knife, being 
probably considered as belonging to a class whom it is es- 
teemed dangerous to entrust with edge-tools. In place of 
these, he was equipped with a sword of lath, resembling 
that with which Harlequin operates his wonders upon the 
modern stage. 

The outward appearance of these two men formed scarce 
a stronger contrast than their look and demeanour. That 
of the serf, or bondsman, was sad and sullen; his aspect 
was bent on the ground with an air of deep dejection, which 
might be almost construed into apathy, had not the fire 
which occasionally sparkled in his red eye manifested 
that there slumbered, under the appearance of sullen des- 
pondency, a sense of oppression, and a disposition to re- 
sistance. The looks of Wamba, on the other hand, in- 
dicated, as usual with his class, a sort of vacant curiosity, 
and fidgety impatience of any posture of repose, together 
with the utmost self-satisfaction respecting his own situa- 
tion, and the appearance which he made. The dialogue 
which they maintained between them, was carried on in 
Anglo-Saxon,^ which, as we said before, was universally 
spoken by the inferior classes, excepting the Norman sol- 
diers and the immediate personal dependants of the great 
feudal nobles. But to give their conversation in the orig- 
inal would convey but little information to the modern 


* The language of England had been 
Anglo-Saxon, so called from the Angles, 
Jutes and Saxons, tribes from north- 
western Germany who invaded and 
conquered England in the fifth century. 
After the Norman conquest (1066) a 


gradual change came over the language 
of the country. Words were incor- 
porated from the French, Latin and 
other languages. The present English 
language, the growth of centuries, has 
resulted. 


8 


IVANHOE. 


reader, for whose benefit we beg to offer the following 
translation : 

‘‘The curse of St. Withold upon these infernal porkers 
said the swineherd, after blowing his horn obstreperously, 
to collect together the scattered herd of swine, which, an- 
swering his call with notes equally melodious, made, how- 
ever, no haste to remove themselves from the luxurious 
banquet of beech-mast and acorns on which they had fat- 
tened, or to forsake the marshy banks of the rivulet, where 
several of them, half plunged in mud, lay stretched at their 
ease, altogether regardless of the voice of their keeper. 
“The curse of St. Withold upon them and upon me!’^ said 
Gurth; “if the two-legged wolf snap not upon some of them 
ere nightfall, I am no true man. Here, Fangs ! Fangs !” he 
ejaculated at the top of his voice to a ragged wolfish-looking 
dog, a sort of lurcher, half mastiff, half greyhound, which 
ran limping about as if with the purpose of seconding his 
master in collecting the refractory grunters ; but which, 
in fact, from misapprehension of the swineherd’s signals, 
ignorance of his own duty, or malice prepense, only drove 
them hither and thither, and increased the evil which he 
seemed to design to remedy. “A devil draw the teeth of 
him,” said Gurth, “and the mother of mischief confound 
the Eanger of the forest,^ that cuts the foreclaws off our 
dogs, and makes them unfit for their trade! Wamba, up 
and help me an thou beest a man; take a turn around the 
back o’ the hill to gain the wind on them; and when thou’st 
got the weather-gauge,^ thou mayst drive them before thee 
as gently as so many innocent lambs.” 

“Truly,” said Wamba, without stirring from the spot, 
“I have consulted my legs upon this matter, and they are 
altogether of opinion, that to carry my gay garments 
through these sloughs, would be an act of unfriendship to 
my sovereign person and royal wardrobe; wherefore, Gurth, 
I advise thee to call off Fangs, and leave the herd to their 
destiny, which, whether they meet with bands of ’ travelling 
soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering pilgrims, can be 

* A Norman Forest Law required all deer, but did not lessen their value as 
shepherd dogs to be “lawed” or mutilated herding dogs. These forest laws were a 
by cutting off the three claws of the right great grievance. 

foot. This disabled them for hunting 2 position of advantage, "upper hand ” 


IVANHOE. 


9 


little else than to be converted into Normans before morn- 
ing, to thy no small ease and comfort/^ 

^^The swine turn Normans to my comfort!” quoth Gurth; 
^^expound that to me, Wamba, for my brain is too dull, 
and my mind too vexed, to read riddles.” 

^‘Why, how call you those grunting brutes running about 
on their four legs?” demanded Wamba, 

^^Swine, fool, swine,” said the herd; ^^every fool knows 
that.” 

^‘And swine is good Saxon,” said the Jester; %ut how 
call you the. sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and quar- 
tered, and hung up by the heels, like a traitor?” 

‘Tork,” answered the swineherd. 

“I am very glad every fool knows that too,” said Wam- 
ba; ^‘'and pork, I think, is good Norman-French; and so 
when the brute lives, and is in the charge of a Saxon slave, 
she goes by her Saxon name; but becomes a Norman, and 
is called pork, when she is carried to the Castle-hall to feast 
among the nobles. What dost thou think of this, friend 
Gurth, ha?” 

^Gt is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however it 
got into thy fooPs pate.” 

^^Nay, I can tell you more,” said Wamba, in the same 
tone ; ^‘^there is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his 
Saxon epithet, while he is under the charge of serfs and 
bondsmen such as thou, but becomes Beef, a fiery French 
gallant, when he arrives before the worshipful jaws that 
£^re destined to consume him. Mynheer Calf, too, becomes 
Monsieur de Veau^ in the like manner; he is Saxon when 
he requires tendance, and takes a Norman name when he 
becomes matter of enjoyment.” 

‘^‘^By St. Dunstan,”^ answered Gurth, ^^thou speakest but 
sad truths; little is left to us but the air we breathe, and 
that appears to have been reserved with much hesitation, 
solely for the purpose of enabling us to endure the tasks 
they lay upon our shoulders. The finest and the fattest 
is for their board; the loveliest is for their couch; the best 
and bravest supply their foreign masters with soldiers, 

1 Veau means veal. Wamba is telling of * a celebrated Anglo-Saxon divine 

changes of name from Saxon to Norman. and statesman (925-988). 


10 


IVANHOE. 


and whiten distant lands with their hones, leaving few here 
who have either will or the power to protect the unfortu- 
nate Saxon. God’s blessing on our Master Cedric; he hath 
done the work of a man in standing in the gap; but Eegi- 
nald Front-de-Bceuf is coming down to this country in 
person, and we shall soon see how little Cedric’s trouble 
will avail him. — Here, here,” he exclaimed again, raising 
his voice. ^^So ho ! so ho ! well done. Fangs ! thou hast 
them all before thee now, and bring’st them on bravely, 
lad.” 

^^Gurth,” said the Jester, know thou thinkest me a fool, 
or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head into 
my mouth. One word to Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, or Philip 
de Malvoisin, that thou hast spoken treason against the Nor- 
man, — and thou art but a castaway swineherd, — thou wouldst 
waver on one of these trees as a terror to all evil speakers 
against dignities.” 

‘‘Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,” said Gurth, “after 
having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage?” 

“Betray thee!” answered the Jester; “no, that were the 
trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help him- 
self. — But soft, whom have we here?” he said, listening to 
the trampling of several horses which became then audible. 

“Never mind whom,” answered Gurth, who had now 
got his herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was 
driving them down one of the long dim vistas which we 
have endeavoured to describe. 

“Nay, but I must see the riders,” answered Wamba; 
“perhaps they are come from Fairyland with a message 
from King Oberon.”^ 

“A murrain take thee,” rejoined the swineherd; “wilt 
thou talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder 
and lightning is raging within a few miles of us? Hark, 
how the thunder rumbles ! and for summer rain, I never 
saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the clouds ; 
the oaks, too, notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and 
creak with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest. 
Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; credit me for 
once, and let us home ere the storm begins to rage, for the 
night will be fearful.” 

’ king of the fairies. 


IVANHOE. 


11 


Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and 
accompanied his companion, who began his journey after 
catching up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the grass 
beside him. This second Eumaeus^ strode hastily down the 
forest glade, driving before him, with the assistance of 
Pangs, the whole herd of his inharmonious charge. 


CHAPTEE(^ 

TWO NORMANS OP RANK, A CHURCH DIGNITARY AND A KNIGHT TEMPLAR 
TRAVELING WITH A RETINUE ARE INTRODUCED. THEY ARRIVE AT 
THE MANSION OF CEDRIC THE SAXON AT ROTHERWOOD FOR A 
NIGHT’S ENTERTAINMENT. 


Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and chid- 
ding of his companion, the noise of the horsemen’s feet con- 
tinuing to approach, Wamba could not be prevented from 
lingering occasionally on the road, upon every pretence 
which occurred; now catching from the hazel a cluster of 
half-ripe nuts, and now turning his head to leer after a 
cottage maiden who crossed their path. The horsemen, 
therefore, soon overtook them on the road. 

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two 
who rode foremost seemed to be persons of considerable 
importance, and the others their attendants. It was not 
difficult to ascertain the condition and character of one of 
these personages. He was obviously an ecclesiastic of high 
rank; his dress was that of a Cistercian Monk,^ but com- 
posed of materials much finer than those which the rule of 
that order admitted. His mantle and hood were of the 
best Flanders cloth,^ and fell in ample, and not ungraceful 
folds, around a handsome, though somewhat corpulent 
person. His countenance bore as little the marks of self- 
denial, as his habit indicated contempt of worldly splen- 

* the swineherd of Ulysses in Homer’s ® Flanders lying along the North Sea 
Odyssey. is now included in Netherlan^, Belgium 

2 The Cistercians were a religious order, and France. For centuries it had been 
so named from its original convent in famed for its manufacture of woolen, silk 
France. and other cloths. 


12 


IVANHOE. 


dour. His features might have been called good, had there 
not lurked under the penthouse of his eye, that sly epicurean^ 
twinkle which indicates the cautious voluptuary. In other 
respects, his profession and situation had taught him a ready 
command over his countenance, which he could contract at 
pleasure into solemnity, although its natural expression was 
that of good-humoured social indulgence. In defiance of 
conventual rules, and the edicts of popes and councils, the 
sleeves of this dignitary were lined and turned up with 
rich furs, his mantle secured at the throat with a golden 
clasp, and the whole dress proper to his order as much 
refined upon and ornamented, as that of a Quaker beauty 
of the present day, who, while she retains the garb and 
costume of her sect, continues to give to its simplicity, by 
the choice of materials and the mode of disposing them, 
a certain air of coquettish attraction, savouring but ' too 
much of the vanities of the world. 

This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed ambling 
mule, whose furniture was highly decorated, and whose 
bridle, according to the fashion of the day, was ornamented 
with silver bells. In his seat he had nothing of the awk- 
wardness of the convent, but displayed the easy and habit- 
ual grace of a well-trained horseman. Indeed, it seemed 
that so humble a conveyance as a mule, in however good 
case, and however well broken to a pleasant and accom- 
modating amble, was only used by the gallant monk for 
travelling on the road. A lay brother, one of those who 
followed in the train, had, for his use. on other occasions, 
one of the most handsome Spanish jennets^ ever bred at 
Andalusia, which merchants used at that time to import, 
with great trouble and risk, for the use of persons of wealth 
and distinction. The saddle and housings of this superb 
palfrey were covered by a long foot-cloth, which reached 
nearly to the ground, and on which were richly embroid- 
ered mitres, crosses, and other ecclesiastical emblems. An- 
other lay brother led a sump ter mule, loaded probably with 
his superior’s baggage; and two monks of his own order, of 
inferior station, rode together in the rear, laughing and 

* The philosophy of Epicvinis (Greece, 2 small Spanish horses, bred especially 
342-270 B.c.) advocated pleasiire as the in Andalusia, a medieval province in the 
chief end of life. southern part of Spain. 


IVANHOE. 


13 


conversing with each other, without taking much notice of 
the other members of the cavalcade. 

The companion of the chnrch dignitary was a man past 
forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; an athletic figure, 
which long fatigue and constant exercise seemed to have 
left none of the softer part of the human form, having re- 
duced the whole to brawn, bones, and sinews, which had 
sustained a thousand toils, and were ready to dare a thou- 
sand more. His head was covered with a scarlet cap, 
faced with fur — of that kind which the French call mortier, 
from its resemblance to the shape of an inverted mortar. 
His countenance was therefore fully displayed, and its ex- 
pression was calculated to impress a degree of awe, if not 
of fear, upon strangers. High features, naturally strong 
and powerfully expressive, had been burnt almost into 
Negro blackness by constant exposure to the tropical sun, 
and might, in their ordinary state, be said to slumber after 
the storm of passion had passed away; but the projection 
of the veins of the forehead, the readiness with which the 
upper lip and its thick black moustaches quivered upon 
the slightest emotion, plainly intimated that the tempest 
might be again and easily awakened. His keen, piercing, 
dark eyes told in every glance a history of difficulties sub- 
dued, and dangers dared, and seemed to challenge oppo- 
sition to his wishes, for the pleasure of sweeping it from 
his road by a determined exertion of courage and of will; 
a deep scar on his brow gave additional sternness to his 
countenance, and a sinister expression to one of his eyes, 
which had been slightly injured on the same occasion, and 
of which the vision, though perfect, was in a slight and par- 
tial degree distorted. 

The upper dress of this personage resembled that of his 
companion in shape, being a long monastic mantle; but 
the colour, being scarlet, showed that he did not belong 
to any of the four regular orders^ of monks. On the right 
shoulder of the mantle there was cut, in white cloth, a 
cross of a peculiar form. This upper robe concealed what 
at first view seemed rather inconsistent with its form, a 
shirt, namely, of linked mail, with sleeves and gloves of 

> the Dominican, Franciscan, Augustinian and Carmelite. 


14 


IVANHOE. 


the same, curiously plaited and interwoven, as flexible to 
the body as those which are now wrought in the stocking- 
loom, out of less obdurate materials. The fore-part of his 
thighs, where the folds of his mantle permitted them to be 
seen, were also covered with linked mail; the knees and 
feet were defended by splints, or thin plates of steel, in- 
geniously jointed upon each other; and mail hose, reaching 
from the ankle to the knee, effectually protected the legs, 
and completed the rider^s defensive armour. In his girdle 
he wore a long and double-edged dagger, which was ttie 
only offensive weapon about his person. 

He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a strong 
hackney for the road, to save his gallant war-horse, which 
a squire led behind, fully accoutred for battle, with a cham- 
fron or plaited head-piece upon his head, having a short 
spike projecting from the front. On one side of the saddle 
hung a short battle-axe, richly inlaid with Damascene^ carv- 
ing; on the other the rider’s plumed head-piece and hood of 
mail, with a long two-handed sword, used by the chivalry 
of the period. A second squire held aloft his master’s 
lance, from the extremity of which fluttered a small ban- 
derole, or streamer, bearing a cross of the same form with 
that embroidered upon his cloak. He also carried his small 
triangular shield, broad enough at the top to protect the 
breast, and from thence diminishing to a point. It was 
covered with a scarlet cloth, which prevented the device 
from being seen. 

These two squires were followed by two attendants, whose 
dark visages, white turbans, and the Oriental form of their 
'garments, showed them to be natives of some distant East- 
ern country. The whole appearance of this warrior and his 
retinue was wild and outlandish; the dress of his squires 
was gorgeous, and his Eastern attendants wore silver col- 
lars round their throats, and bracelets of the same metal 
upon their swarthy arms and legs, of which the former were 
naked from the elbow, and the latter from mid-leg to ankle. 
Silk and embroidery distinguished their dresses, and marked 
the wealth and importance of their master; forming, at the 
same time, a striking contrast with the martial simplicity of 

1 That of Damascus, famed for its skill in working steel. 


IVANHOE. 


15 


his own attire. They were armed with crooked sabres, having 
the hilt and baldric^ inlaid with gold, and matched with Turk- 
ish daggers of yet more costly workmanship. Each of them 
bore at his saddle-bow a bundle of darts or javelins, about 
four feet in length, having sharp steel heads, a weapon much 
in use among the Saracens,^ and of which the memory is yet 
preserved in the martial exercise called El Jerrid^ still prac- 
tised in the Eastern countries. 

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as 
foreign as their riders. They were of Saracen origin, and 
consequently of Arabian descent ; and their fine slender 
limbs, small fetlocks, thin manes, and easy springy motion, 
formed a marked contrast with the large- jointed heavy 
horses, of which the race was cultivated in Flanders and 
in Normandy, for mounting the men-at-arms of the period 
in all the panoply of plate and mail; and which, placed 
by the side of those Eastern coursers, might have passed 
for a personification of substance and of shadow. 

The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only at- 
tracted the curiosity of Wamba, but excited even that of 
his less volatile companion. The monk he instantly knew 
to be the Prior^ of Jorvaulx Abbey, well known for many 
miles around as a lover of the chase, of the banquet, and, 
if fame did him not wrong, of other worldly pleasures still 
more inconsistent with his monastic vows. 

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the 
conduct of the clergy, whether secular or regular, that the 
Prior Aymer maintained a fair character in the neigh- 
bourhood of his abbey. His free and jovial temper, and 
the readiness with which he granted absolution from all 
ordinary delinquencies, rendered him a favourite among 
the nobility and principal gentry, to several of whom he 
was allied by birth, being of a distinguished Norman fam- 
ily. The ladies, in particular, were not disposed to scan 
too nicely the morals of a man who was a professed admirer 


1 abelt, often richly ornamented, usual- 
ly worn over one shoulder and across the 
breast, to support a sword, bugle, etc. 

2 Arabian and other followers of Mo- 
hammed. They were hostile to the Cru- 
saders. 


* a sort of sham fight in which javelins 
with blunt points were used. 

* the presiding officer of a religious 
house, of a priory or an abbey. Scott 
speaks of Aymer sometimes as prior, some- 
times as abbot. 


16 


IVANHOE. 


of their sex, and who possessed many means of dispelling 
the ennui which was too apt to intrude upon the halls and 
bowers of an ancient feudal castle. The Prior mingled 
in the sports of the field with more than due eagerness, 
and was allowed to possess the best-trained hawks and the 
fleetest greyhounds in the North Eiding; circumstances 
which strongly recommended him to the youthful gentry. 
With the old, he had another part to play, which, when 
needful, he could sustain with great decorum. His knowl- 
edge of books, however superficial, was sufficient to im- 
press upon their ignorance respect for his supposed learn- 
ing; and the gravity of his deportment and language, with 
the high tone which he exerted in setting forth the author- 
ity of the church and of the priesthood, impressed them no 
less with an opinion of his sanctity. Even the common 
people, the severest critics of the conduct of their betters, 
had commiseration with the follies of Prior Aymer. He 
was generous; and charity, as it is well known, covereth 
a multitude of sins, in another sense than that in which 
it is said to do so in Scripture. The revenues of the mon- 
astery, of which a large part was at his disposal, while they 
gave him the means of supplying his own very consider- 
able expenses, afforded also those largesses which he be- 
stowed among the peasantry, and with which he frequently 
relieved the distresses of the oppressed. If Prior Aymer 
rode hard in the chase, or remained long at the banquet, — 
if Prior Aymer was seen, at the early peep of dawn, to en- 
ter the postern of the abbey, as he glided home from some 
rendezvous which had occupied the hours of darkness, men 
only shrugged up their shoulders, and reconciled them- 
selves to his irregularities, by recollecting that the same 
were practised by many of his brethren who had no redeem- 
ing qualities whatsoever to atone for them. Prior Aymer, 
therefore, and his character, were well known to our Saxon 
serfs, who made their rude obeisance, and received his ''hene- 
dicite mes in return. 

But the singular appearance of his companion and his 
attendants, arrested their attention and excited their won- 
der, and they could scarcely attend to the Prior of Jorvaulx^ 

» meaning “bless you my sons.” 


IVANHOE. 


17 


question, when he demanded if they knew of any place of 
harbourage in the vicinity; so much were they surprised at 
the half monastic, half military appearance of the swarthy 
stranger, and at the uncouth dress and arms of his Eastern 
attendants. It is probable, too, that the language in which 
the benediction was conferred, and the information asked, 
sounded ungracious, though not probably unintelligible, in 
the ears of the Saxon peasants. 

asked you, my children,’^ said the Prior, raising his 
voice, and using the lingua Franca, or mixed language, 
in which the Norman and Saxon races conversed with each 
other, “if there be in this neighbourhood any good man, 
who, for the love of God, and devotion to Mother Church, 
will give two of her humblest servants, with their train, a 
night’s hospitality and refreshment?” 

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, which 
formed a strong contrast to the modest terms which he 
thought it proper to employ. 

“Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church!” re- 
peated Wamba to himself, — but, fool as he was, taking 
care not to make his observation audible; “I should like to 
see her seneschals, her chief butlers, and her other prin- 
cipal domestics!” 

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, 
he raised his eyes, and replied to the question which had 
been put. 

“If the reverend fathers,” he said, “loved good cheer and 
soft lodging, few miles of riding would carry them to the 
Priory of Brinxworth, where their quality could not but 
secure them the most honourable reception; or if they pre- 
ferred spending a penitential evening, they might turn 
down yonder wild glade, which would bring them to the 
hermitage of Copmanhurst, where a pious anchoret would 
make them sharers for the night of the shelter of his roof 
and the benefit of his prayers.” 

The Prior shook his head at both proposals. 

“Mine honest friend,” said he, “if the jangling of thy 
bells had not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst 
know Clericus clericum non decimat; that is to say, we 
churchmen do not exhaust each other’s hospitality, but 


18 


IVANHOE. 


rather require that of the laity; giving them thus an oppor- 
tunity to serve God in honouring and relieving his appointed 
servants/^ 

^Gt is true/’ replied Wamba, ^Hhat I, being but an ass, 
am, nevertheless, honoured to bear the bells as well as your 
reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I did conceive that the 
charity of Mother Church and her servants might be said, 
with other charity, to begin at home.” 

“A truce -to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed rider, 
breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern voice, ^^and 

tell us, if thou canst, the road to . How call’d you your 

Pranklin,^ Prior Aymer?” 

^^Cedric,” answered the Prior; ^Tedric the Saxon, — Tell 
me, good fellow, are* we near his dwelling, and can you 
show us the road?” 

^The road will be uneasy to find,” answered Gurth, who 
broke silence for the first time, ^^and the family of Cedric 
retire early to rest.” 

^^Tush, tell not me, fellow!” said the military rider; 
^^’tis easy for them to arise and supply the wants of trav- 
ellers such as we are, who will not stoop to beg the hospi- 
tality which we have a right to command.” 

know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, ^fif I should show the 
way to my master’s house, to those who demand as a right, 
the shelter which most are fain to ask as a favour.” 

“Do you dispute with me, slave!” said the soldier; and, 
setting spurs to his horse, he caused him to make a demi- 
volte across the path, raising at the same time the riding 
rod which he held in his hand, with a purpose of chas- 
tising what he considered as the insolence of the peasant. 

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, and 
with a fierce, yet hesitating motion, laid his hand on the 
haft of his knife; but the interference of Prior Aymer, 
who pushed his mule betwixt his companion and the swine- 
herd, prevented the meditated violence. 

“Nay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not think 
you are now in Palestine, predominating over heathen Turks 

2 a freeholder, who held his lands of the subject of superior rank. Thus the frank- 

crown free from any feudal servitude to a lins constituted an “inferior gentry”(p.2) 


IVANHOE. 


19 


and infidel Saracens; we islanders love not blows, save those 
of holy Church, who chasteneth whom she loveth. — Tell me, 
good fellow,^^ said he to Wamba, and seconded his speech by a 
small piece of silver coin, ^The way to Cedric the Saxon’s; 
you cannot be ignorant of it, and it is your duty to direct the 
wanderer even when his character is less sanctified than ours.’^ 

^Tn truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, “the 
Saracen head of your right reverend companion has fright- 
ened out of mine the way home — I am not sure I shall 
get there to-night myself.” 

“Tush,” said the Abbot, “thou canst tell us if thou wilt. 
This reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fight- 
ing among the Saracens for the recovery of the Holy Sep- 
ulchre;^ he is of the order of Knights Templars,^ whom you 
may have heard of; he is half a monk, half a soldier.” 

^Hf he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “he should 
not be wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets upon 
the road, even if they should be in no hurry to answer 
questions that no way concern them.” 

“I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “on condition 
thou wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.” 

“Well, then,” answered Wamba, “your reverences must 
hold on this path till you come to a sunken cross, of which 
scarce a cubit’s length remains above ground; then take 
the path to the left, for there are four which meet at Sunken 
Cross, and I trust your reverences will obtain shelter before 
the storm comes on.” 

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and the cavalcade, 
setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do who wish to 
reach their inn before the bursting of a night-storm. As 
their horses’ hoofs died away, Gurth said to his companion, 
“If they follow thy wise direction, the reverend fathers will 
hardly reach Kotherwood this night.” 

“JSTo,” said the Jester, grinning, “but they may reach 
Sheffield if they have good luck, and that is as fit a place 
for them. I am not so bad a woodsman as to show the 

1 It was recovered from the Turks who The warriors wore the sign of the cross 
at that time had possession of the Holy (Latin, crux, cross). 

Land. Many military expeditions called ^ “military monks,” a great order found- 
Crusades were sent out from the christ- ed in the 12th century for defence of the 
ians of western Europe for the recovery Latin kingdom of Jerusalem which was 
of Palestine from the Mohammedans. their headquarters. 


20 


IVANHOE. 


dog where the deer lies, if I have no mind he should chase 
him/^ 

^^Thon art right,” said Gurth; ^^it were ill that Aymer 
saw the Lady Eowena; and it were worse, it may be, for 
Cedric to qnarrel, as is most likely he would, with this 
military monk. But, like good servants, let us hear and 
see, and say nothing.” 

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bondsmen 
far behind them, and who maintained the following conver- 
sation in the Norman- French language, usually employed 
by the superior classes, with the exception of the few who 
were still inclined to boast their Saxon descent. 

^^What mean these fellows by their capricious inso- 
lence?” said the Templar to the Cistercian, ^^and why did 
you prevent me from chastising it?” 

^^Marry,^ brother Brian,” replied the Prior, ^Touching 
the one of them, it were hard for me to render a reason 
for a fool speaking according to his folly; and the other 
churP is of that savage, fierce, intractable race, some of 
whom, as I have often told you, are still to be found among 
the descendants of the conquered Saxons, and whose supreme 
pleasure it is to testify, by all means in their power, their 
aversion to their conquerors.” 

would soon have beat him into courtesy,” observed 
Brian; am accustomed to deal with such spirits. Our 
Turkish captives are as fierce and intractable as Odin^ him- 
self could have been; yet two months in my household, 
under the management of my master of the slaves, has 
made them humble, submissive, serviceable, and observant 
of your will. Marry, sir, you must beware of the poison 
and the dagger; for they use either with free will when you 
give them the slightest opportunity.” 

^“^Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, ^‘^every land has its 
own manners and fashions; and, besides that beating this 
fellow could procure us no information respecting the road 
to Cedric^s house, it would have been sure to have established 

^ an exclamation of surprise; Mary, or Norse msrthology. His wife was Frigga 
by Mary (the Virgin). (Wednesday, Woden’s day was named 

2 an Anglo-Saxon freeman of the lowest for him, and Friday from Frigga, Frig- 
class. Now, a rude, ill-ternpered person. doeg). 

3 or Woden, was the chief god of the 


IVANHOE. 


21 


a quarrel betwixt you and him had we found our way 
thither. Remember what I told you; this wealthy Frank- 
lin is proud, fierce, jealous, and irritable; a withstander 
of the nobility, and even of his neighbours, Reginald Front- 
de-Bceuf, and Philip Malvoisin, who are no babes to strive 
with. He stands up so sternly for the privileges of his 
race, and is so proud of his uninterrupted descent from 
Hereward,^ a renowned champion of the Heptarchy,^ that he 
is universally called Cedric the Saxon; and makes a boast of 
his belonging to a people from whom many others endeavour 
to hide their descent, lest they should encounter a share of 
the vae victis, or severities imposed upon the vanquished.^^ 

“Prior Aymer,^’ said the Templar, “you are a man of 
gallantry, learned in the study of beauty, and as expert 
as a troubadour in all matters concerning the arrets of 
love; but I shall expect much beauty in this celebrated 
Rowena, to counterbalance the self-denial and forbearance 
which I must exert, if I am to court the favour of such a 
seditious churl as you have described her father Cedric.’^ 

“Cedric is not her father,^^ replied the Prior, “and is 
but of remote relation ; she is descended from higher 
blood than even he pretends to, and is but distantly con- 
nected with him by birth. Her guardian, however, he is, 
self -constituted as I believe; but his ward is as dear to him 
as if she were his own child. Of her beauty you shall soon 
be judge; and if the purity of her complection, and the 
majestic, yet soft expression of a mild blue eye, do not 
chase from your memory the black-tressed girls of Pales- 
tine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound^s^ paradise, I am an 
infidel, and no true son of the church.” 

“Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar, “be 
weighed in the balance and found wanting, you know our 
wager ?” 

“My gold collar,” answered the Prior, “against ten butts 
of Chian wine;'^ — they are mine as securely as if they were 


1 the last champion of Saxon England 
against the Normans. 

* the name sometimes applied to the 
seven principal Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of 
England in the 5th to the 9tb century. 

3 (Mahomet). In the Koran the houris 


are represented as beautiful virgins whose 
company forms the chief felicity of the 
faithful. 

^ Chios (now Scio) was an island in the 
.iEgean sea whose wines were famous 
in antiquity. 


22 


IVANHOE. 


already in the convent vaults, under the key of old Dennis 
the cellarer/^ 

‘^'And I am myself to be judge/^ said the Templar, ^^and 
I am only to be convicted on my. own admission, that I 
have seen no maiden so beautiful since Pentecost was a 
twelvemonth. Ean it not so? — Prior, your collar is in 
danger; I will wear it over my gorget in the lists of Ashby- 
de-la-Zouche.’^^ 

^‘Win it fairly,” said the Prior, ‘^and wear it as ye will; 
I will trust your giving true response, on your word as a 
knight and as a churchman. Yet, brother, take my advice, 
and file your tongue to a little more courtesy than your 
habits of predominating over infidel captives and Eastern 
bondsmen have accustomed you. Cedric the Saxon, if 
offended, — and he is no way slack in taking offence, — is a man 
who, without respect to your knighthood, my high office, 
or the sanctity of either, would clear his house of us, and 
send us to lodge with the larks, though the hour were mid- 
night. And be careful how you look on Eowena, whom he 
cherishes with the most jealous care; an he take the least 
alarm in that quarter we are but lost men. It is said he 
banished his only son from his family for lifting his eyes 
in the way of affection towards this beauty, who may be 
worshipped, it seems, at a distance, but is not to be ap- 
proached with other thoughts than such as we bring to the 
shrine of the Blessed Virgin.” 

^‘Well, you have said enough,” answered the Templar; 
will for a night put on the needful restraint, and deport me 
as meekly as a maiden ; but as for the fear of his expelling us 
by violence, myself and squires, with Hamet and Abdalla, 
will warrant you against that disgrace. Doubt not that we 
shall be strong enough to make gopd our quarters.” 

^^We must not let it come so far,” answered the Prior; 
^fi)ut here is the clown’s sunken cross, and the night is so 
dark that we can hardly see which of the roads we are to 
follow. He bid us turn, I think, to the left.” 

^^To the right,” said Brian, ^To the best of my remem- 
brance.” 

1 The approaching tournament at Ashby. (See map, page ivV 


IVANHOE. 


23 


the left, certainly, the left; I remember his pointing 
with his wooden sword/^ 

^^Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, and so 
pointed across his body with it,” said the Templar. 

Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy, as 
is usual in all such cases; the attendants were appealed to, 
but they had not been near enough to hear Wamba’s directions. 
At length Brian remarked, what had at first escaped him in 
the twilight. ^^Here is some one either asleep, or lying dead 
at the foot of this cross — Hugo, stir him with the but-end of 
thy lance.” 

This was no sooner done than the figure arose, exclaim- 
ing in good French, ^^Whosoever thou art, it is discourteous 
in you to disturb my thoughts.” 

^‘We did but wish to ask you,” said the Prior, ^The road 
to Eotherwood, the abode of Cedric the Saxon.” 

‘T myself am bound thither,” replied the stranger; ^^and 
if I had a horse, I would be your guide, for the way is some- 
what intricate, though perfectly well known to me.” 

‘^Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my friend,” 
said the Prior, ^fif thou wilt bring us to Cedric’s in safety.” 

And he caused one of his attendants to mount his own led 
horse, and give that upon which he had hitherto ridden to the 
stranger, who was to serve for a guide. 

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that 
which Wamba had recommended, for the purpose of mislead- 
ing them. The path soon led deeper into the woodland, and 
crossed more than one brook, the approach to which was 
rendered perilous by the marshes through which it flowed; 
but the stranger seemed to know, as if by instinct, the sound- 
est ground and the safest points of passage; and by dint of 
caution and attention, brought the party safely into a wider 
avenue than any they had yet seen; and, pointing to a large, 
low, irregular building at the upper extremity, he said to the 
Prior, ^^Yonder is Eotherwood, the dwelling of Cedric the 
Saxon.” 

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose nerves were 
none of the strongest, and who had suffered such agitation 
and alarm in the course of passing through the dangerous 
bogs, that he had not yet had the curiosity to ask his guide a 


24 


IVANHOE. 


single question. Finding himself now at ease and neai shel- 
ter, his curiosity began to awake, and he demanded of the 
guide who and what he was. 

Palmer,^ Just returned from the Holy Land,” was the 
answer. 

^^You had better have tarried there to fight for the recov- 
ery of the Holy Sepulchre,” said the Templar. 

^^True, Eeverend Sir Knight,” answered the Palmer, to 
whom the appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly 
familiar; ^Tut when those who are under oath to recover the 
holy city, are found travelling at such a distance from the 
scene of their duties, can you wonder that a peaceful peasant 
like me should decline the task which they have abandoned ?” 

The Templar would have made an angry reply, but was in- 
terrupted by the Prior, who again expressed his astonishment 
that their guide, after such long absence, should be so perfect- 
ly acquainted with the passes of the forest. 

‘T was born a native of these parts,” answered their guide, 
and as he made the reply they stood before the mansion of 
Cedric, — a low, irregular building, containing several court- 
yards or enclosures, extending over a considerable space of 
ground, and which, though its size argued the inhabitant to 
be a person of wealth, differed entirely from the tall, turreted, 
and castellated buildings in which the Norman nobility re- 
sided, and which had become the universal style of arch- 
itecture throughout England. 

Eotherwood was not, however, without defences; no hab- 
itation, in that disturbed period, could have been so, without 
the risk of being plundered and burnt before the next morn- 
ing. A deep fosse, or ditch, was drawn around the whole 
building, and filled with water from a neighbouring stream. 
A double stockade, or palisade, composed of pointed beams, 
which the adjacent forest supplied, defended the outer and 
inner bank of the trench. There was an entrance from the 
west through the outer stockade, which communicated by a 
drawbridge, with a similar opening in the interior defences. 
Some precautions had been taken to place those entrances 
under the protection of projecting angles, by which they 
might be fianked in case of need by archers or slingers. 

1 a pilgrim who had visited the Holy Land and returned bearing a palm branch. 


IVANHOE. 


25 


Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn^ loudly; 
for the rain, which had long threatened, began now to descend 
with great violence. 


•CHAPTEE III 

AN OLD ENGLISH HALL. THE MANSION OF CEDRIC THE SAXON. ITS 
PROPRIETOR. HIS HOUSEHOLD. AN ARRIVAL. 

In a halP the height of which was greatly disproportioned 
to its extreme length and width, a long oaken table, formed 
of planks rough-hewn from the forest, which had scarcely 
received any polish, stood ready prepared for the evening meal 
of Cedric the Saxon. The roof, composed of beams and raft- 
ers, had nothing to divide the apartment from the sky ex- 
cepting the planking thatch; there was a huge fireplace at 
either end of the hall, but as the chimneys were constructed 
in a very clumsy manner, at least as much of the smoke 
found its way into the apartment as escaped by the proper 
vent. The constant vapour which this occasioned, had pol- 
ished the rafters and beams of the low-browed hall, by 
encrusting them with a black varnish of soot. On the sides 
of the apartment hung implements of war and of the chase, 
and there were at each corner folding doors, which gave 
access to other parts of the extensive building. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook of the rude 
simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued himself 
upon maintaining. The floor was composed of earth mixed 
with lime, trodden into a hard substance, such as is often 
employed in flooring our modern barns. For about one quar- 
ter of the length of the apartment, the floor was raised by a 
step, and this space, which was called the dais, was occupied 
only by the principal members of the family, and visitors of 
distinction. For this purpose, a table richly covered with 
scarlet cloth was placed transversely across the platform, 

* Elsewhere the correct form is used, different from those of the Norman no- 
“a bugle twice winded before the bility. 

castle.” Note also the pains Scott has taken to 

* Note the characteristics of the dwell- give an accurate and charming picture 
ings of wealthy Saxons of the time; how of the old English hall. 


26 


IVANHOE. 


from the middle of which ran the longer and lower board, 
at which the domestics and inferior persons fed, down 
towards the bottom of the hall. The whole resembled the form 
of the letter T, or some of those ancient dinner-tables, which, 
arranged on the same principles, may be still seen in the 
antique Colleges of Oxford or Cambridge. Massive chairs 
and settles of carved oak were placed* upon the dais, and 
over these seats and the more elevated table was fastened 
a canopy of cloth, which served in some degree to protect 
the dignitaries who occupied that distinguished station from 
the weather, and especially from the rain, which in some 
places found its way through the ill-constructed roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the dais 
extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, and upon 
the floor there was a carpet, both of which were adorned 
with some attempts at tapestry, or embroidery, executed with 
brilliant or rather gaudy colouring. Over the lower range 
of table, the roof, as we have noticed, had no covering; the 
rough plastered walls were left bare, and the rude earthen 
floor was uncarpeted; the board was uncovered by a cloth, 
and rude massive benches supplied the place of chairs. 

In the centre of the upper table were placed two chairs 
more elevated than the rest for the master and mistress of 
the family, who presided over the scene of hospitality, and 
from doing so derived their Saxon title of honour, which 
signifies ^The Dividers of Bread.’’^ 

To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curiously 
carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark of distinction was 
peculiar to them. One of these seats was at present occu- 
pied by Cedric the Saxon, who, though but in rank a thane,^ 
or, as the Normans called him, a Franklin, felt, at the delay 
of his evening meal, an irritable impatience, which might 
have become an alderman, whether of ancient or of modern 
times. 

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this pro- 
prietor, that he was of a frank, but hasty and choleric tem- 
per. He was not above the middle stature, but broad-shoul- 

1 “Lord” and “lady” in their old Eng- pion of the king assigned to particular 

lish forms were hlaford and hlafdige — military duty; later, a freeman who pos- 
“ loaf-keeper” and “loaf-kneader.” sessed some property. 

2 Before the Conquest a warrior cham- 


IVANHOE. 


27 


dered, long-armed, and powerfully made, like one accus- 
tomed to endure the fatigue of war or of the chase; his face 
was broad, with large blue eyes, open and frank features, 
fine teeth, and a well-formed head, altogether expressive of 
that sort of good-humour which often lodges with a sudden 
and hasty temper. Pride and jealousy there was in his eye, 
for his life had been spent in asserting rights which were 
constantly liable to invasion; and the prompt, fiery, and 
resolute disposition of the man, had been kept constantly 
upon the alert by the circumstances of his situation. His 
long yellow hair was equally divided on the top of his head 
and upon his brow, and combed down on each side to the 
length of his shoulders ; it had but little tendency to grey, 
although Cedric was approaching to his sixtieth year. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the throat 
and cuffs with what was called minever; a kind of fur in- 
ferior in quality to ermine, and formed, it is believed, of 
the skin of the grey squirrel. This doublet hung unbuttoned 
over a close dress of scarlet which sate tight to his body; he 
had breeches of the same, but they did not reach below the 
lower part of the thigh, leaving the knee exposed. His feet 
had sandals of the same fashion with the peasants, but of 
finer materials, and secured in the front with golden clasps. 
He had bracelets of gold upon his arms, and a broad collar 
of the same precious metal around his neck. About his waist 
he wore a richly-studded belt, in which was stuck a short, 
straight, two-edged sword, with a sharp point, so disposed as 
to hang almost perpendicularly by his side. Behind his seat 
was hung a scarlet cloth cloak lined with fur, and a cap of 
the same materials richly embroidered, which completed the 
dress of the opulent landholder when he chose to go forth. 
A short boar-spear, vith a broad and bright steel head, also 
reclined against the back of his chair, which served him, 
when he walked abroad, for the purposes of a staff or of a 
weapon, as chance might require. 

Several domestics, whose dress held various proportions 
betwixt the richness of their master’s, and the coarse and 
simple attire of Gurth the swineherd, watched the looks and 
waited the commands of the Saxon di^itary. Two or three 
servants of a superior order stood behind their master upon 


-28 


IVANHOE. 


the dais; the rest occupied the lower part of the hall. Other 
attendants there were of a different description ; two or 
three large and shaggy greyhounds, such as were then em- 
ployed in hunting the stag and wolf; as many slow-hounds^ 
of a large bony breed, with thick necks, large heads, and 
long ears; and one or two of the smaller dogs, now called 
terriers, which waited with impatience the arrival of the 
supper; but, with the sagacious knowledge of the physiog- 
nomy peculiar to their race, forbore to intrude upon the 
moody silence of their master, apprehensive probably of a 
small white truncheon^ which lay by Cedric’s trencher,^ for 
the purpose of repelling the advances of his four-legged de- 
pendants. One grisly old wolf-dog alone, with the liberty 
of an indulged favourite, had planted himself close by the 
chair of state, and occasionally ventured to solicit notice 
by putting his large hairy head upon his master’s knee, or 
pushing his nose into his hand. Even he was repelled 
by the stern command, ‘^Down, Balder,^ down ! I am not in 
the humour for foolery.” 

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very placid 
state of mind. The Lady Eowena, who had been absent 
to attend an evening mass at a distant church, had but just 
returned, and was changing her garments, which had been 
wetted by the storm. There was as yet no tidings of Gurth 
and his charge, which should long since have been driven 
home from the forest; and such was the insecurity of the 
period, as to render it probable that the delay might be ex- 
plained by some depredation of the outlaws, with whom the 
adjacent forest abounded, or by the violence of some neigh- 
bouring baron, whose consciousness of strength made him 
equally negligent of the laws of property. The matter was 
of consequence, for great part of the domestic wealth of 
the Saxon proprietors consisted in numerous herds of swine, 
especially in forest land, where those animals easily found 
their food. 

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane was 
impatient for the presence of his favourite clown Wamba, 
whose jests, such as they were, served for a sort of seasoning 

^ sleuth-hounds, blood-hounds. ^ Cedric had named his dog from the 

2 a short stick or baton. Norse mythological god Balder, god of 

’ a wooden plate or platter. light. 


IVANHOE. 


29 


to his evening meal, and to the deep draughts of ale and 
wine with which he was in the habit of accompan5'’ing it. 
Add to all this, Cedric had fasted since noon, and his usual 
supper hour was long past, a cause of irritation common to 
country squires, both in ancient and modern times. His 
displeasure was expressed in broken sentences, partly mut- 
tered to himself, partly addressed to the domestics who 
stood around ; and particularly to his cupbearer, who 
offered him from time to time, as a sedative, a silver goblet 
filled with wine — ‘‘Why tarries the Lady Eowena?^^ 

“She is but changing her head-gear,’^ replied a female 
attendant, with as much confidence as the favourite lady^s- 
maid usually answers the master of a modern family; “you 
would not wish her to sit down to the banquet in her hood 
and kirtle? and no lady within the shire can be quicker 
in arraying herself than my mistress.” 

This undeniable argument produced a sort of acquiescent 
umph ! on the part of the Saxon, with the addition, “I wish 
her devotion may choose fair weather for the next visit to 
St. John^s Kirk; — but what, in the name of ten devils,” con- 
tinued he, turning to the cupbearer, and raising his voice, 
as if happy to have found a channel into which he might 
divert his indignation without fear or control — “what, in 
the name of ten devils, keeps Gurth so long a-field? I sup- 
pose we shall have an evil account of the herd; he was wont 
to be a faithful and cautious drudge, and I had destined him 
for something better; perchance I might even have made 
him one of my warders.” 

Oswald the cupbearer modestly suggested, “that it was 
scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew ;”^ an ill-chosen 
apology, since it turned upon a topic so harsh to Saxon 
ears. 

“The foul fiend,” exclaimed Cedric, “take the curfew-bell, 
and the tryannical bastard by whom it was devised, and 
the heartless slave who names it with a Saxon tongue to a 
Saxon ear ! The curfew !” he added, pausing, “ay, the 
curfew; which compels true men to extinguish their lights, 

1 evening bell, rung as a signal for put- the regulations introduced by William 
ting out the fires (curfew literally mean- the Conqueror, and was very unpopular 
ing “cover the fire”). This was one of with the Saxons. 


30 


IVANHOE. 


that thieves and robbers may work their deeds in darkness ! — 
Ay, the curfew ; — Eeginald Front-de-Bceuf and Philip de 
Malvoisin know the use of the curfew as well as William the 
Bastard himself, or e’er a Norman adventurer that fought 
at Hastings. I shall hear, I guess, that my property has 
been swept off to save from starving the hungry banditti, 
whom they cannot support but by theft and robbery. My 
faithful slave is murdered, and my goods are taken for a 
prey — and Wamba — where is Wamba? Said not some one 
he had gone forth with Gurth?” 

Oswald replied in the affirmative. 

^^Ay? why this is better and better! he is carried off too, 
the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman lord. Fools are we 
all indeed that serve them, and fitter subjects for their scorn 
and laughter, than if we were born with but half our wits. 
But I will be avenged,” he added, starting from his chair 
in impatience at the supposed injury, and catching hold 
of his boar-spear; ‘^1 will go with my complaint to the 
great council; I have friends, I have followers — man to man 
will I appeal the Norman to the lists; let him come in his 
plate and his mail, and all that can render cowardice bold; 
I have sent such a javelin as this through a stronger fence 
than three of their war shields! — Haply they think me old; 
but they shall find, alone and childless as I am, the blood of 
Hereward is in the veins of Cedric. — Ah, Wilfred, Wilfred !” 
he exclaimed in a lower tone, ‘^^couldst thou have ruled thine 
unreasonable passion, thy father had not been left in his age 
like the solitary oak, that throws out its shattered and un- 
protected branches against the full sweep of the tempest!” 
The reflection seemed to conjure into sadness his irritated 
feelings. Replacing his javelin, he resumed his seat, bent 
his looks downward, and appeared to be absorbed in melan- 
choly reflection. 

From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened by the 
blast of a horn, which was replied to by the clamorous yells 
and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and some twenty 
or thirty which were quartered in other parts of the build- 
ing. It cost some exercise of the white truncheon, well 
seconded by the exertions of the domestics, to silence this 
canine clamour. 


IVANHOE. 


31 


the gate, knaves!” said the Saxon, hastily, as soon 
as the tnmnlt was so much appeased that the dependants 
conld hear his voice. “See what tidings that horn tells ns 
of — to announce, I ween, some hership^ and robbery which 
has been done upon my lands.” 

Eetnrnjng in less than th^e minutes, a warder announced, 
“that the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, and the good knight 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander of the valiant and ven- 
erable order of Knights Templars, with a small retinue, 
requested hospitality and lodging for the night, being on 
their way to a tournament which was to be held not far 
from Ashby-de-la-Zoiiche, on the second day from the pres- 
ent.” 

“Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guilbert ?” — 
muttered Cedric; “Kormans both; — but Norman or Saxon, 
the hospitality of Eotherwood must not be impeached; they 
are welcome, since they have chosen to halt — more welcome 
would they have been to have ridden further on their way. — 
But it were unworthy to murmur for a nighPs lodging and 
a nighPs food; in the quality of guests, at least, even Nor- 
mans must suppress their insolence. — Go, Hundebert,” he 
added, to a sort of major-domo^ who stood behind him with 
a white wand; “take six of the attendants, and introduce 
the strangers to the guests’ lodging. Look after their horses 
and mules, and see their train lack nothing. Let them have 
change of vestments if they require it, and fire, and water 
to wash, and wine and ale ; and bid the cooks add what they 
hastily can to our evening meal ; and let it be put on the 
board when those strangers are ready to share it. Say to 
them, Hundebert, that Cedric would himself bid them wel- 
come, but he is under a vow never to step more than three 
steps from the dais of his own hall to meet any who shares 
not the blood of Saxon royalty. Begone ! see them carefully 
tended; let them not say in their pride, the Saxon churl 
has shown at once his poverty and his avarice.” 

The major-domo departed with several attendants, to exe- 
cute his master’s commands. “The Prior A3rmer!” repeated 
Cedric, looking to Oswald, “the brother, if I mistake not, 
of Giles de Mauleverer, now lord of Middleham?” 

> pillage. 2 steward. 


32 


IVANHOE. 


Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. ^^His brother 
sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better race, 
the race of Ulfgar of Middleham ; but what Norman lord^ doth 
not the same? The Prior is, they say, a free and jovial 
priest, who loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn better 
than bell and book.^ Good; let him come, he shall be wel- 
come. How named ye the Templar?’^ 

^^Brian de Bois-Guilbert.^^ 

^‘Bois-Guilbert,’^ said Cedric, still in the musing, half- argu- 
ing tone, which the habit of living among dependants had 
accustomed him to employ, and which resembled a man who 
talks to himself rather than to those around him — ‘^^Bois- 
Guilbert ? That name has been spread wide both for good and 
evil. They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order ; but 
stained with their usual vices — pride, arrogance, cruelty, and 
voluptuousness; a hard-hearted man, who knows neither fear 
of earth, nor awe of heaven. So say the few warriors who 
have returned from Palestine. — Well, it is but for one night; 
he shall be welcome too. — Oswald, broach the oldest wine- 
cask ; place the best mead, the mightiest ale, the, richest morat,^ 
the most sparkling cider, the most odoriferous pigments, 
upon the board ; fill the largest horns® — Templars and Abbots 
love good wines and good measure. — Elgitha, let thy Lady 
Eowena know we shall not this night expect her in the hall, 
unless such be her especial pleasure.^^ 

‘‘But it will be her especial pleasure,’^ answered Elgitha, 
with great readiness, “for she is ever desirous to hear the 
latest news from Palestine.^^ 

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty re- 
sentment; but Eowena, and whatever belonged to her, were 
privileged and secure from his anger. He only replied, “Si- 
lence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy discretion. Say my 
message to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. Here, 
at least, the descendant of Alfred^ still reigns a princess.’^ 
Elgitha left the apartment. 

“Palestine!” repeated the Saxon; “Palestine! how many 

^ Bell and book; church service and ® Horns were used by the Saxons for 
devotions at ijrayers. drinking cups — usually made of horn, 

2 Morat — pigments, Saxon drinks; the but sometimes of glass or stone, 
first naade of honey flavored with rnul- * king of Britain, 872-901 — the great- 
berry juice; and the latter a spiced wine, est and wisest of Saxon monarchs. 
sweetened with honey. 


IVANHOE. 


33 


ears are turned to the tales which dissolute crusaders, or 
hypocritical pilgrims, bring from that fatal land ! I too might 
ask — I too might enquire — I too might listen with a beating 
heart to fables which the wily strollers devise to cheat us 
into hospitality — but no, — the son who has disobeyed^ me is no 
longer mine ; nor will I concern myself more for his fate than 
for that of the most worthless among the millions that ever 
shaped the cross on their shoulder, rushed into excess and 
blood-guiltiness, and called it an accomplishment of the will 
of God/^ 

He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant on the 
ground; as he raised them, the folding doors at the bottom 
of the hall were cast wide, and, preceded by the major-domo 
with his wand, and four domestics bearing blazing torches, 
the guests of the evening entered the apartment. 


CHAPTER IV 

CEDRIC RECEIVES AND ENTERTAINS HIS NORMAN GUESTS. THE FEAST. 

THE LADY ROWENA. 

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity afforded him, 
of changing his riding robe for one of yet more costly ma- 
terials, over which he wore a cope- curiously embroidered. 
Besides the massive golden signet ring, which marked his 
ecclesiastical dignity, his fingers, though contrary to the 
canon, were loaded with precious gems; his sandals were of 
the finest leather which was imported from Spain; his beard 
trimmed to as small dimensions as his order would possibly 
permit, and his shaven crown concealed by a scarlet cap 
richly embroidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also changed; 
and, though less studiously bedecked with ornament, his 

1 Hints at mysteries to be disclosed born in these parts” (p. 24). Can this 
later* "Ah, Wilfred, Wilfredl” (p. 30); Palmer be the missing son in disguise? 
Rowena’s anxiety “to hear the latest 2 a cloak-like vestment of a priest, 
news from Palestine” (p. 32); “I was 


34 


IVANHOE. 


dress was as rich, and his appearance far more commanding, 
than that of his companion. He had exchanged his shirt of 
mail for an under tunic of dark purple silk, garnished with 
furs, over which flowed his long robe of spotless white, in 
ample folds. The eight-pointed cross of his order was cut on 
the shoulder of his mantle in black velvet. The high cap no 
longer invested his brows, which were only shaded by short 
and thick curled hair of a raven blackness, corresponding to 
his unusually swart complexion. Nothing could be more 
gracefully majestic than his step and manner, had they not 
been marked by a predominant air of haughtiness, easily 
acquired by the exercise of unresisted authority. 

These two dignified persons were followed by their re- 
spective attendants, and at a more humble distance by their 
guide, whose figure had nothing more remarkable than it 
derived from the usual weeds of a pilgrim. A cloak or 
mantle of coarse black serge enveloped his whole body. 
It was in shape something like the cloak of a modern hus- 
sar, having similar fiaps for covering the arms, and was 
called a Sclaveyn, or Sclavonian. Coarse sandals, bound 
with thongs, on his bare feet; a broad and shadowy hat, 
with cockle-shells^ stitched on its brim, and a long staff shod 
with iron, to the upper end of which was attached a branch of 
palm, completed the Palmer’s attire. He followed modest- 
ly the last of the train which entered the hall, and, observ- 
ing that the lower table scarce afforded room sufficient for 
the domestics of Cedric and the retinue of his guests, he 
withdrew to a settle placed beside and almost under one of 
the large chimneys, and seemed to employ himself in drying 
his garments, until the retreat of some one should make room 
at the board, or the hospitality of the steward should sup- 
ply him with refreshments in the place he had chosen apart. 

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of dignified 
hospitality, and, descending from the dais, or elevated part 
of his hall, he made three steps towards them, and then 
awaited their approach. 

‘T grieve,” he said, ^Teverend Prior, that my vow binds 


' sea-shells worn as emblems of a visit dant on the coasts of both England and 

to Palestine. Such shells were abun- Palestine. 


IVANHOE. 


35 


me to advance no farther upon this floor of my fathers, even 
to receive such guests as you, and this valiant Knight of 
the Holy Temple. But my steward has expounded to you 
the cause of my seeming discourtesy. Let me also pray, that 
you will excuse my speaking to you in my native language, 
and that you will reply in the same if your knowledge of 
it permits; if not, I sufficiently understand Norman to fol- 
low your meaning.” 

‘^Vows,” said the Abbot, “must be unloosed, worthy Frank- 
lin, or permit me rather to say, worthy Thane, though the 
title is antiquated. Vows are the knots which tie us to Heaven 
— they are the cords which bind the sacriflce to the horns of 
the altar, — and are therefore, — as I said before, — to be un- 
loosened and discharged, unless our holy Mother Church shall 
pronounce the contrary. And respecting language, 1 will- 
ingly hold communication in that spoken by my respected 
grandmother, Hilda of Middleham, who died in odour of 
sanctity, little short, if we may presume to say so, of her 
glorious namesake, the blessed Saint Hilda, ^ of Whitby, God 
be gracious to her soul !” 

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a concil- 
iatory harangue, his companion said briefly and emphat- 
ically, “I speak ever French, the language of King Eichard 
and his nobles; but I understand the English sufficiently to 
communicate with the natives of the country.” 

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty and im- 
patient glances, which comparisons between the two rival 
nations seldom failed to call forth ; but, recollecting the duties 
of hospitality, he suppressed further show of resentment, 
and, motioning with his hand, caused his guests to assume 
two seats a little lower than his own, but placed close beside 
him, gave a signal that the evening meal should be placed 
upon the board. 

VTiile the attendants hastened to obey Cedric^s commands, 
his eye distinguished Gurth the swineherd, who, with his 
companion AYamba, had just entered the hall. “Send these 
loitering knaves up hither,” said the Saxon, impatiently. 
And when the culprits came before the dais, — “How comes 

1 grandniece of Edwin, King of North- the famous monastery of Whitby where 
umbria (614-680). She was abbess of the Anglo-Saxon poet Csedmon sang. 


36 


IVANHOE. 


it villains!^ that you have loitered abroad so late as this! 
Hast thou brought home thy charge, sirrah^ Gurth, or hast 
thou left them to robbers and marauders?’^ 

^The herd is safe, so please ye,^^ said Gurth. 

^^But it does not please me, thou knave,^^® said Cedric, ^^that 
I should be made to suppose otherwise for two hours, and sit 
here devising vengeance against my neighbours for wrongs 
they have not done me. I tell thee, shackles and the prison- 
house shall punish the next offence of this kind.^^ 

Gurth, knowing his master’s irritable temper, attempted 
no exculpation; but the Jester, who could presume upon 
Cedric’s tolerance, by virtue of his privileges as a fool, re- 
plied for them both, ^Jn troth, uncle Cedric,^ you are neither 
wise nor reasonable to-night.” 

‘^How, sir?” said his master; ^^you shall to the porter’s 
lodge, and taste of the discipline there, if you give your 
foolery such license.” 

‘Tirst let your wisdom tell me,” said Wamba, ^^is it just 
and reasonable to punish one person for the fault of an- 
other ?” 

^‘^Certainly not, fool,” answered Cedric. 

^^Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle, for the 
fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare be sworn we lost not a 
minute by the way, when we had got our herd together, 
which Fangs did not manage until we heard the vesper-bell.” 

^^Then hang up Fangs,” said Cedric, turning hastily to- 
wards the swineherd, “if the fault is his, and get thee an- 
other dog.” 

“Under favour, uncle,” said the Jester, “that were still 
somewhat on the bow-hand® of fair justice; for it was no 
fault of Fangs that he was lame and could not gather the 
herd, but the fault of those that struck olf two of his fore- 
claws, an operation for which, if the poor fellow had been 
consulted, he would scarce have given his voice.” 

“And who dared to lame an animal which belonged to my 
bondsman?” said the Saxon, kindling in wrath. 

1 A villain was one of the lowest order came to mean rogue, dishonest person, 
of persons not free; a feudal serf. * The title uncle was used by fools in 

* “Fellow,” “Sir,” used in anger or mock familiarity with their masters, 

contempt. * the hand that inflicts the penalty; 

* originally, boy, youth. In Anglo- hereimplyingausterityratherthanclem- 
Saxon ena/a meant “boy.” Later, knave ency. 


IVANHOE. 


37 


^^Marry, that did old Hubert/’ said Wamba, ^^Sir Philip 
de Malvoisin’s keeper of the chase. He caught Fangs stroll- 
ing in the forest, and said he chased the deer contrary to his 
master’s right, as warden of the walk.” 

^^The foul fiend take Malvoisin,” answered the Saxon, 
^^and his keeper both ! I will teach them that the wood was 
disforested^ in terms of the great Forest Charter. But 
enough of this. Go to, knave, go to thy place — and thou, 
Gurth, get thee another dog, and should the keeper dare to 
touch it, I will mar his archery; the curse of a coward on 
my head, if I strike not off the forefinger of his right hand ! 
— He shall draw bowstring no more. — I crave your pardon, 
my worthy guests. I am beset here with neighbours that 
match your infidels. Sir Knight, in Holy Land. But your 
homely fare is before you; feed, and let welcome make 
amends for hard fare.” 

The feast, however, which was spread upon the board, 
needed no apologies from the lord of the mansion. Swine’s 
fiesh, dressed in several modes, appeared on the lower part 
of the board, as also that of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, and 
various kinds of fish, together with huge loaves and cakes 
of bread, and sundry confections made of fruits and honey. 
The smaller sorts of wild-fowl, of which there was abundance, 
were not served up in platters, but brought in upon small 
wooden spits or broaches, and offered by the pages and domes- 
tics who bore them, to each guest in succession, who cut 
from them such a portion as he pleased. Beside each person 
of rank was placed a goblet of silver; the lower board was 
accommodated with large drinking horns. 

When the repast was about to commence, the major-domo, 
or steward, suddenly raising his wand, said aloud, — ^^For- 
bear ! — Place for the Lady Rowena.” A side-door at the 
upper end of the hall now opened behind the banquet table, 
and Rowena, followed by four female attendants, entered the 
apartment. Cedric, though surprised, and perhaps not alto- 
gether agreeably so, at his ward appearing in public on this 
occasion, hastened to meet her, and to conduct her, with re- 

1 It was not till a.d. 1215 that the open to the people much English forest, 
great charter, which disforested or threw was given. 


38 


IVANHOE. 


specif ul ceremony, to the elevated seat at his own right hand, 
appropriated to the lady of the mansion. All stood up to re- 
ceive her; and, replying to their courtesy by a mute gesture 
of salutation, she moved gracefully forward to assume her 
place at the board. Ere she had time to do so, the Templar 
whispered to the Prior, shall wear no collar of gold of 
yours at the tournament. The Chian wine is your own.”^ 

‘^Said I not so T’ answered the Prior ; ‘^but check your rap- 
tures, the Franklin observes you.” 

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only to act 
upon the immediate impulse of his own wishes, Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert kept his eyes riveted on the Saxon beauty, more 
striking perhaps to his imagination, because differing wide- 
ly from those of the Eastern sultanas. 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Eowena was 
tall in stature, yet not so much as to attract observation on 
account of superior height. Her complexion was exquisitely 
fair, but the noble cast of her head and features prevented 
the insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. 
Her clear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a graceful 
eyebrow of browm sufficiently marked to give expression to 
the forehead, seemed capable to kindle as well as melt, to 
command as well as to beseech. If mildness were the more 
natural expression of such a combination of features, it was 
plain, that in the present instance, the exercise of habitual 
superiority, and the reception of general homage, had given 
to the Saxon lady a loftier character, which mingled with 
and qualified that bestowed by nature. Her profuse hair, of 
a colour betwixt brown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanci- 
ful and graceful manner in numerous ringlets, to form which 
art had probably aided nature. These locks were braided with 
gems, and being worn at full length, intimated the noble 
birth and free-born condition of the maiden. A golden 
chain, to which was attached a small reliquary of the same 
metal, hung around her neck. She wore bracelets on her 
arms, which were bare. Her dress was an under-gown and 
kirtle of pale sea-green silk, over which hung a long loose 


* Turn back to Chapter II., and find the account of the wager concerning Row- 
ena’s beauty. Who has won? 


IVANHOE. 


39 


robe, which reached to the ground, having very wide sleeves, 
which came down, however, very little below the elbow. 
This robe was crimson, and manufactured out of the very 
finest wool. A veil of silk, interwoven of gold, was attached 
to the upper part of it, which could be, at the wearer’s pleas- 
ure, either drawn over the face and bosom after the Span- 
ish fashion, or disposed as a sort of drapery round the 
shoulders. 

When Eowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes bent 
on her with an ardour, that, compared with the dark caverns 
under which they moved, gave them the effect of lighted 
charcoal, she drew with dignity the veil around her face, 
' as an intimation that the determined freedom of his glance 
was disagreeable. Cedric saw the motion and its cause. 
‘^Sir Templar,” said he, ^The cheeks of our Saxon maidens 
have seen too little of the sun to enable them to bear the 
fixed glance of a crusader.” 

^Tf I have offended,” replied Sir Brian, crave your 
pardon — that is, I crave the Lady Eowena’s pardon — for 
my humility will carry me no lower.” 

^^The Lady Eowena,” said the Prior, ‘^has punished us 
all, in chastising the boldness of my friend. Let me hope 
she will be less cruel to the splendid train which are to 
meet at the tournament.” 

^‘Our going thither,” said Cedric, ^^is uncertain. I love 
not these vanities, which were unknown to my fathers when 
England was free.” 

^‘Let us hope, nevertheless,” said the Prior, ^^our company 
may determine you to travel thitherward; when the roads 
are so unsafe, the escort of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is 
not to be despised.” 

^^Sir - Prior,” answered the • Saxon, ^Wheresoever I have 
travelled in this land, I have hitherto found myself, with 
the assistance of my good sword and faithful followers, in 
no respect needful of other aid. At present, if we indeed 
journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche, we do so* with my noble neigh- 
bour and countryman, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and 
with such a train as would set outlaws and feudal enemies 
at defiance. — I drink to you. Sir Prior, in this cup of wine, 
which I trust your taste will approve, and I thank you for 


40 


IVANHOE. 


your courtesy. Should you be so rigid in adhering to mon- 
astic rule/^ he added, “as to prefer your acid preparation 
of milk, I hope you will not strain courtesy to do me reason.” 

“Nay,” said the Priest, laughing, “it is only in our abbey 
that we confine ourselves to the lac dulce or the lac acidum 
either. Conversing with the world, we use the world’s fash- 
ion, and therefore I answer your pledge in this honest wine, 
and leave the weaker liquor to my lay-brother.” 

“And I,” said the Templar, filling his goblet, “drink 
wassaiP to the fair Eowena; for since her namesake intro- 
duced the word into England, has never been one more 
worthy of such a tribute. By my faith, I could pardon the 
unhappy Vortigern, had he half the cause that we now 
witness, for making shipwreck of his honour and his king- 
dom.” 

“I will spare your courtesy. Sir Knight,” said Eowena 
with dignity, and without unveiling herself ; “or rather 
I will tax it so far as to require of you the latest news from 
Palestine,^ a theme more agreeable to our English ears, than 
the compliments which your French breeding teaches.” 

^‘1 have little of importance to say, lady,” answered Sir 
Brian de Bois-Gruilbert, “excepting the confirmed tidings 
of a truce with Saladin.” 

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken his ap- 
propriated seat upon a chair, the back of which was deco- 
rated with two ass’s ears, and which was placed about two 
steps behind that of his master, who, from time to time, sup- 
plied him with victuals from his own trencher; a favour, 
however, which the Jester shared with the favourite dogs, 
of whom, as we have already noticed, there were several 
in attendance. Here sat Wamba, with a small table before 
him, his heels tucked up against the bar of the chair, his 
cheeks sucked up so as to make his jaws resemble a pair 
of nut-crackers, and his eyes half-shut, yet watching with 
alertness every opportunity to exercise his licensed foolery. 

“These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed, without 
caring how suddenly he interrupted the stately Templar, 
“make an old man of me!” 

la drinH for festive occasions. It * -^hy can Rowena be so anxious to 
was made of ale or wine flavored with hear from Palestine? 
spices, sugar, roasted apples, etc. 


IVANHOE. 


41 


to, knave, how so?’’ said Cedric, his features prepared 
to receive favourably the expected jest. 

‘‘Because,” answered Wamba, “I remember three of them 
in my day, each of which was to endure for the course of 
fifty years; so that, by computation, I must be at least a 
hundred and fifty years old.” 

“I will warrant you against dying of old age, however,” 
said the Templar, who now recognised his friend of the 
forest; “I will assure you from all deaths but a violent one, 
if you give such directions to wayfarers, as you did this 
night to the Prior and me.” 

“How, sirrah !” said Cedric, “misdirect travellers ? We 
must have you whipt; you are at least as much rogue as 
fool.” 

“I pray thee, uncle,” answered the jester, “let my folly 
for once protect my roguery. I did but make a mistake 
between my right hand and my left; and he might have 
pardoned a greater, who took a fool for his counsellor and 
guide.” 

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the 
porter’s page, who announced that there was a stranger at 
the gate, imploring admittance and hospitality. 

“Admit him,” said Cedric, “be he who or what he may; — 
a night like that which roars without, compels even wild 
animals to herd with tame, and to seek the protection of 
man, their mortal foe, rather than perish by the elements. 
Let his wants be ministered to with all care. — Look to it, Os- 
wald.” 

And the steward left the banqueting hall to see the com- 
mands of his patron obeyed. 


42 


IVANHOE, 


CHAPTEE V 

ISAAC OP YORK RECEIVED BY CEDRIC. CONVERSATION AT TABLE. 

HOT WORDS BETWEEN THE PALMER AND THE TEMPLAR. 

Oswald^ returning, whispered into the ear of his master, 

‘^It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of York; is it fit I 
should marshal him into the hall?’^ 

‘‘Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,” said Wamba, with 
his usual effrontery; “the swineherd will be a fit usher to 
the Jew.” 

“St. Mary,” said the Abbot, crossing himself, “an un- 
believing Jew, and admitted into this presence!” 

“A dog Jew,” echoed the Templar, “to approach a de- 
fender of the Holy Sepulchre?” 

“By my faith,” said Wamba, “it would seem the Tem- 
plars love the Jews’ inheritance better than .they do their 
company.” 

“Peace, my worthy guests,” said Cedric; “my hospitality 
must not be bounded by your dislikes. If Heaven bore with 
the whole nation of stiff-necked unbelievers for more years 
than a layman can number, we may endure the presence 
of one Jew for a few hours. But I constrain no man to con- 
verse or to feed with him. — Let him have a board and a 
morsel apart, — ^unless,” he said, smiling, “these turban’d 
strangers will admit his society.” 

“Sir Franklin,” answered the Templar, “my Saracen 
slaves are true Moslems,^ and scorn as much as any Christian 
to hold intercourse with a Jew.” 

“Now, in faith,” said Wamba, “I cannot see that the 
worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunt^ have so greatly 
the advantage over the people once chosen of Heaven.” 

“He shall sit with thee, Wamba,” said Cedric; “the fool 
and the knave will be well met.” 

“The fool,” answered Wamba, raising the relics of a 
gammon of bacon, “will take care to erect a bulwark against 
the knave.” 

“Hush,” said Cedric, “for here he comes.” 

1 followers of Mohammed. 

2 thought by crusaders to be a Mohammedan deity. 


IVANHOE. 


43 


Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing with fear 
and hesitation, and many a bow of deep humility, a tall, 
thin old man, who, however, had lost by the habit of stooping 
much of his actual height, approached the lower end of the 
board. His features, keen and regular, with an aquiline 
nose, and piercing black eyes; his high and wrinkled fore- 
head, and long grey hair and beard, would have been con- 
sidered as handsome, had they not been the marks of a 
physiognomy peculiar to a race, which, during those dark 
ages, was alike detested by the credulous and prejudiced vul- 
gar, and persecuted by the greedy and rapacious nobility, and 
who, perhaps, owing to that very hatred and persecution, 
had adopted a national character, in which there was much, 
to say the least, mean and unamiable. 

The Jew’s dress, which appeared to have suffered con- 
siderably from the storm, was a plain russet cloak of many 
folds, covering a dark purple tunic. He had large boots 
lined with fur, and a belt around his waist, which sustained 
sl small knife, together with a case for writing materials, 
but no weapon. He wore a high square yellow cap of a 
peculiar fashion, assigned to his nation to distinguish them 
from Christians, and which he doffed with great humility 
at the door of the hall. 

The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric the 
Saxon, was such as might have satisfied the most prejudiced 
enemy of the tribes of Israel. Cedric himself coldly nodded 
in answer to the Jew’s repeated salutations, and signed to 
him to take place at the lower end of the table, where, how- 
ever, no one offered to make room for him. On the con- 
trary, as he passed along the file, casting a timid supplicating 
glance, and turning towards each of those who occupied the 
lower end of the board, the Saxon domestics squared their 
shoulders, and continued to devour their supper with great 
perseverance, paying not the least attention to the wants of the 
new guest. The attendants of the Abbot crossed themselves, 
with looks of pious horror, and the very heathen Saracens, 
as Isaac drew near them, curled up their whiskers with in- 
dignation, and laid their hands on their poniards, as if 
ready to rid themselves by the most desperate means from 
the apprehended contamination of his nearer approach. 


44 


IVANHOE. 


Probably the same motives which induced Cedric to open 
his hall to this son of a rejected people, would have made 
him insist on his attendants receiving Isaac with more cour- 
tesy. But the Abbot had, at this moment, engaged him in a 
most interesting discussion on the breed and character of his 
favourite hounds, which he would not have interrupted for 
matters of much greater importance than that of a Jew 
going to bed supperless. While Isaac thus stood an outcast in 
the present society, like his people among the nations, look- 
ing in vain for welcome or resting place, the Pilgrim who 
sat by the chimney took compassion upon him, and resigned 
his seat, saying briefly, ^^Old man, my garments are dried, 
my hunger is appeased; thou art both wet and fasting.” So 
saying, he gathered together, and brought to a flame, the 
decaying brands which lay scattered on the ample hearth; 
took from the larger board a mess of pottage and seethed 
kid, placed it upon the small table at which he had himself 
supped, and, without waiting the Jew’s thanks; went to the 
other side of the hall; — whether from unwillingness to hold 
more close communication with the object of his benevolence, 
or from a wish to draw near to the upper end of the table, 
seemed uncertain. 

Had there been painters in those days capable to execute 
such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his withered form, and 
expanded his chilled and trembling hands over the fire, 
would have formed no bad emblematical personification of 
the Winter season. Having dispelled the cold, he turned 
eagerly to the smoking mess which was placed before him, 
and ate with a haste and an apparent relish, that seemed to 
betoken long abstinence from food. 

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their dis- 
course upon hunting; the Lady Eowena seemed engaged in 
conversation with one of her attendant females; and the 
haughty Templar, whose eye seemed to wander from the Jew 
to the Saxon beauty, revolved in his mind thoughts which 
appeared deeply to interest him. 

‘T marvel, worthy Cedric,” said the Abbot, as their dis^ 
course proceeded, ‘That, great as your predilection is fof 
your own manly language, you do not receive the Norman- 
Brench into your favour, so far at least as the mystery of 


IVANHOE. 


45 


wood-craft and hunting is concerned. Surely no tongue is 
so rich in the various phrases which the field-sports demand, 
or furnishes means to the experienced woodman so well to 
express his jovial art.” 

^*Good Father Aymer,” said the Saxon, ^^be it known to 
you, I care not for those over-sea refinements, without which 
I can well enough take my pleasure in the woods. I can 
wind my horn, though I call not the blast either a recheate 
or morte ^ — I can cheer my dogs on the prey, and 1 can flay 
and quarter the animal when it is brought down, without 
using the new f angled jargon of curee, arbor, nombles, and 
all the babble of the fabulous Sir Tristrem.”^ 

^‘The French,” said the Templar, raising his voice with 
the presumptuous and authoritative tone which he used 
upon all occasions, ^‘is not only the natural language of the 
chase, but that of love and of war, in which ladies should be 
won and enemies defied.” 

‘Tledge me in a cup of wine. Sir Templar,” said Cedric, 
‘^and fill another to the Abbot, while I look back some thirty 
years to tell you another tale. As Cedric the Saxon then 
was, his plain English tale needed no garnish from French 
troubadours,^ when it was told in the ear of beauty ; and the 
field of Northallerton, upon the day of the Holy Standard, 
could tell whether the Saxon war-cry was not heard as far 
within the ranks of the Scottish host as the cri de guerre of 
the boldest Norman baron. To the memory of the brave who 
fought there! — Pledge me, my guests.” He drank deep, 
and went on with increasing warmth. ^^Ay, that was a day 
of cleaving of shields, when a hundred banners were bent 
forward over the heads of the valiant, and blood flowed 
round like water, and death was held better than flight. A 
Saxon bard had called it a feast of the swords — a gathering 
of the eagles to the prey — the clashing of bills^ upon shield 
and helmet, the shouting of battle more joyful than the clam- 
our of a bridal. But our bards are no more,” he said; ‘^our 

’ a sounding of the hunting-horn to * L 3 n:ic poets who flourished in south- 
call back the hounds when the scent is ern Spain and Italy in the 12th and 13th 
lost, or a sounding at the death of the centuries. 

game. * ^ weapon used by infantry — a broad 

* one of King Arthur’s knights. blade fixed upon a staff, etc. 


46 


IVANHOE. 


deeds are lost in those of another race, — our language — our 
very name — is hastening to decay, and none mourns for it 
save one solitary old man. — Cupbearer ! knave, fill the gob- 
lets — To the strong in arms. Sir Templar, be their race or 
language what it will, who now bear them best in Palestine 
among the champions of the Cross 

^Tt becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,’’ said 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; ^^yet to whom, besides the sworn 
Champions of the Holy Sepulchre, can the palm be assigned 
among the champions of the Cross?” 

^‘To the Knights Hospitallers,” said the Abbot; have a 
brother of their order.” 

impeach not their fame,” said the Templar; ^^never- 
theless — ” 

‘H think, friend Cedric,” said Wamba, interfering, ^That 
had Eichard of the Lion’s Heart been wise enough to have 
taken a fool’s advice, he might have staid at home with his 
merry Englishmen, and left the recovery of Jerusalem to 
those same knights who had most to do with the loss of it.” 

^‘Were there, then, none in the English army,” said the 
Lady Eowena, ^Vhose names are worthy to be mentioned 
with the Knights of the Temple, and of St. John?” 

“Forgive me, lady,” replied He Bois-Guilbert; “the Eng- 
lish monarch did, indeed, bring to Palestine a host of gal- 
lant warriors, second only to those whose breasts have been 
the unceasing bulwark of that blessed land.” 

“Second to none,” said the Pilgrim, who stood near 
enough to hear, and had listened to this conversation with 
marked impatience. All turned towards, the spot from 
whence this unexpected asseveration was heard. “I say,” re- 
peated the Pilgrim in a firm and strong voice, “that the 
English chivalry were second to none who ever drew sword 
in defence of the Holy Land. I say besides, for I saw it, 
that King Eichard himself, and five of his Imights, held a 
tournament after the taking of St. John-de-Acre,^ as chal- 
lengers against all comers. I say that, on that day, each 
knight ran three courses, and cast to the ground three antag- 
onists. I add, that seven of these assailants were Knights 

1 a seaport of Palestine. It was taken in 1191 from the Saracens by the Crusaders 
under Richard I., now, Acre (a' At). 


IVANHOE. 


47 


of the Temple — and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert well knows 
the truth of what I tell you/’ 

It is impossible for language to describe the bitter sccJwl 
of rage which rendered yet darker the swarthy countenance of 
the Templar. In the extremity of his resentment and con- 
fusion, his quivering fingers griped towards the handle of 
his sword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the conscious- 
ness that no act of violence could be safely executed in that 
place and presence. Cedric, whose feelings were all of a right 
onward and simple kind, and was seldom occupied by more 
than one object at once, omitted, in the joyous glee with 
which he heard of the glory of his countrymen, to remark 
the angry confusion of his guest. “I would give thee this 
golden bracelet. Pilgrim,” he said, ^^couldst thou tell me the 
names of those knights who upheld so gallantly the renown 
of merry England.” 

‘^That will I do blithely,” replied the Pilgrim, ^^and with- 
out guerdon^ ; my oath, for a time, prohibits me from touch- 
ing gold.” 

will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend 
Palmer,” said Wamba. 

^^The first in honour as in arms, in renown as in place,” 
said the Pilgrim, ^Vas the brave Eichard, King of Eng- 
land.” 

‘T forgive him,” said Cedric; forgive him his descent 
from the tyrant Duke William.” 

^‘The Earl of Leicester was the second,” continued the 
Pilgrim; ^‘Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the third.” 

‘^Of Saxon descent, he at least,” said Cedric with exulta- 
tion. 

^^Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,” proceeded the Pilgrim. 

‘^Saxon also, at least by the mother’s side,” continued 
Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness, and forgot, 
in part at least, his hatred to the Normans, in the common 
triumph of the King of England and his islanders. ‘^And 
who was the fifth?” he demanded. 

^^The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.” 

‘^Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist !” shouted Cedric. 
— ^/And the sixth?” he continued with eagerness — ^fiiow 
name you the sixth?” 

* reward given as an honor. 


48 


IVANHOE. 


'sixth/’ said the Palmer, after a pause, in which he 
®®^ied to recollect himself, ^Vas a young knight of lesser 
^f^nown and lower rank, assumed into that honourable com- 
pany, less to aid their enterprise than to make up their 
number; — his name dwells not in my memory.” 

^^Sir Palmer,” said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert scornfully, 
^^this assumed forgetfulness, after so much has been remem- 
bered, comes too late to serve your purpose. I will myself 
tell the name of the knight before whose lance fortune and 
my horse’s fault occasioned my falling — it was the Emight 
of Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his years, 
had more renown in arms. — Yet this will I say, and loud- 
ly — that were he in England, and durst repeat, in this 
week’s tournament, the challenge of St. John-de-Acre, I, 
mounted and armed as I now am, would give him every 
advantage of weapons, and abide the result.” 

^‘Your challenge would be soon answered,” replied the 
Palmer, ^Vere your antagonist near you. As the matter 
is, disturb not the peaceful hall with vaunts of the issue 
of the conflict, which you well know cannot take place. If 
Ivanhoe ever returns from Palestine, I will be his surety 
that he meets you.” 

^^A goodly security!” said the Knight Templar; ^%nd 
what do you proffer as a pledge?” 

^‘This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small ivory 
box from his bosom, and crossing himself, ^^containing a 
portion of the true cross, brought from the Monastery of 
Mount Carmel.” 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a 
pater noster,^ in which all devoutly joined, excepting the 
Jew, the Mahommedans, and the Templar; the latter of 
whom, without vailing his bonnet, or testifying any rever- 
ence for the alleged sanctity of the relic, took from his neck 
a gold chain, which he flung on the board, saying — '^Let 
Prior Aymer hold my pledge and that of this nameless 
vagrant, in token that when the Knight of Ivanhoe comes 
within the four seas of Britain, he underlies the challenge 
of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answer not, I will 

1 the Lord’s Prayer; the first two words (Pater Noster, Our Father) of the latin 
version. 


IVANHOE. 


49 


proclaim him as a coward on the walls of every Temple Court 
in Europe.” 

“It will not need,” said the Lady Rowena, breaking silence ; 
“my voice shall be heard, if no other in this hall is raised in 
behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he will meet fairly 
every honourable challenge. Could my weak warrant add 
security to the inestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I 
would pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud 
knight the meeting he desires.” 

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occupied 
Cedric, and kept him silent during this discussion. Gratified 
pride, resentment, embarrassment, chased each other over his 
broad and open brow, like the shadow of clouds drifting over 
a harvest-field; while his attendants, on whom the name of 
the sixth knight seemed to produce an effect almost electrical, 
hung in suspense upon their master^s looks. But when 
Eowena spoke, the sound of her voice seemed to startle him 
from his silence. 

“Lady,” said Cedric, “this beseems not; were further 
pledge necessary, I myself, offended, and justly offended, as 
1 am would yet gage my honour for the honour of Ivanhoe.^ 
But the wager of battle is complete, even according to the 
fantastic fashions of ^^orman chivalry. — Is it not, Father 
Aymer ?” 

“It is,” replied the Prior; “and the blessed relic and rich 
chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of our convent, 
until the decision of this warlike challenge.” 

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and again, 
and after many genuflections and muttered prayers, he de- 
livered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose, his attendant monk, 
while he himself swept up with less ceremony, but perhaps 
with no less internal satisfaction, the golden chain, and be- 
stowed it in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, which 
opened under his arm. “And now. Sir Cedric,” he said, 
“my ears are chiming vespers with the strength of your 
good wine — permit us another pledge to the welfare of the 
Lady Rowena, and indulge us with liberty to pass to our 
repose.” 

* Notice how skilfully Scott prepares Ivanhoe is, keeping the reader’s curiosity 
the way for the final disclosure of who alert. 


50 


IVANHOE. 


the rood^ of Bromholme,” said the Saxon, ^^you do 
but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior ! Eeport speaks you 
a bonny monk, that would hear the matin chime ere he quitted 
his bowl ; and, old as I am, I feared to have shame in encoun- 
tering you. But, by my faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in my 
time, would not so soon have relinquished his goblet.'’’ 

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persevering in 
the course of temperance which he had adopted. He was not 
only a professional peacemaker, but from practice a hater of 
all feuds and brawls. It was not altogether from a love to his 
neighbour, or to himself, or from a mixture of both. On the 
present occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension of the 
fiery temper of the Saxon, and saw the danger that the reck- 
less and presumptuous spirit, of which his companion had 
already given so many proofs, might at length produce some 
disagreeable explosion. He therefore gently insinuated the 
incapacity of the native of any other country to engage in the 
genial conflict of the bowl with the hardy and strong-headed 
Saxons; something he mentioned, but slightly, about his own 
holy character, and ended by pressing his proposal to depart 
to repose. 

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and the 
guests, after making deep obeisance to their landlord and to 
the Lady Rowena, arose and mingled in the hall, while the 
heads of the family, by separate doors, retired with their 
attendants. 

“Unbelieving dog,” said the Templar to Isaac the Jew, as 
he passed him in the throng, “dost thou bend thy course to 
the tournament?” 

“I do so propose,” replied Isaac, bowing in all humility, 
“if it please your reverend valour.” 

“Ay,” said the Knight, “to gnaw the bowels of our nobles 
with usury, and to gull women and boys with gauds and toys. 
— I warrant thee store of shekels^ in thy Jewish scrip.” 

“Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling — so help 
me the God of Abraham!” said the Jew, clasping his hands; 
“I go but to seek the assistance of some brethren of my tribe 


1 cross or crucifix. 

* a Jewish coin, value about 60 cents (silver) to five dollars (gold). 


IVAN HOE. 


51 


to aid me to pay the fine which the Exchequer of the Jews^ 
have imposed upon me — Father Jacob be my speed! I am 
an impoverished wretch — the very gaberdine^ I wear is bor- 
rowed from Eeuben of Tadcaster/^ 

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, ^^Beshrew® thee 
for a false-hearted liar !” and passing onward, as if disdaining 
further conference, he communed with his Moslem slaves in 
a language unknown to the bystanders. The poor Israelite 
seemed so staggered by the address of the military monk, that 
the Templar had passed on to the extremity of the hall ere 
he raised his head from the humble posture which he had 
assumed, so far as to be sensible of his departure. And 
when he did look around, it was with the astonished air of 
one at whose feet a thunderbolt has just burst, and who 
hears still the astounding report ringing in his ears. 

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshalled to 
their sleeping apartments by the steward and the cupbearer, 
each attended by two torch-bearers and two servants carry- 
ing refreshments, while servants of inferior condition indi- 
cated to their retinue and to the other guests their respective 
places of repose. 


CHAPTEE VI 


rowena’s interview with the palmer, sleeping cabins of 

CEDRIC’S MANSION. POOR ISAAC! AN ELECTRIFYING WHISPER. 
TWO TRAVELERS TO ASHBY. 


As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, passed 
through the intricate combination of apartments of this 
large and irregular mansion, the cupbearer coming behind 
him whispered in his ear, that if he had no objection to a 
cup of good mead in his apartment, there were many domes- 
tics in that family who would gladly hear the news he had 
brought from the Holy Land, and particularly that which 


1 The exchequer of Norman kings was 
the court in which the financial business 
of the country was transacted. It re- 
ceived its name from the chequered cloth 
which covered the table at which the 
accounts were taken. In those days the 
Jews were subjected to an exchequer 
specially applying to them as a race, and 


which laid them under the most exor- 
bitant impositions. They were taxed 
not for any advantage received, but sim- 
ply because they were Jews. 

2 a long coarse cloak which the Jews 
were obliged to wear at that time. 

3 to wish ill : to execrate. 


52 


IVANHOE. 


concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba presently appeared 
to urge the same request, observing that a cup after midnight 
was worth three after curfew. Without disputing a maxim 
urged by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them for 
their courtesy, but observed that he had included in his 
religious vow, an obligation never to speak in the kitchen on 
matters which were prohibited in the hall. ^^That vow,^’ said 
AVamba to the cupbearer, ^Svould scarce suit a serving-man.’^ 

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. 
^T thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,”^ said 
he; ^Tut since he is so unsocial to Christians, e’en let him 
take the next stall to Isaac the Jew’s. — Anwold,” said he to 
the torch-bearer, ^^carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell. — I 
give your good-night,” he added, ‘^Sir Palmer, with small 
thanks for short courtesy.” 

^^Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison!”^ said the Palmer, 
with composure; and his guide moved forward. 

In a small antechamber, into which several doors opened, 
and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they met a sec- 
ond interruption from the waiting-maid of Eowena, who, 
saying in a tone of authority, that her mistress desired to 
speak with the Palmer, took the torch from the hand of 
Anwold, and, bidding him await her return, made a sign to 
the Palmer to follow. Apparently he did not think it proper 
to decline this invitation as he had done the former; for, 
though his gesture indicated some surprise at the summons, 
he obeyed it without answer or remonstrance. 

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of 
which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the 
apartment of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnificence of 
which corresponded to the respect which was paid to her by 
the lord of the mansion. The walls were covered with em- 
broidered hangings, on which different-coloured silks, inter- 
woven with gold and silver threads, had been employed with 
all the art of which the age was capable, to represent the 
sports of hunting and hawking. The bed was adorned with 
the same rich tapestry, and surrounded with curtains dyed 
with purple. The seats had also their stained coverings, and 

‘ an upper room in a house exposed to 2 the Virgin Mary’s benediction or 
the sun. blessing. 


IVANHOE. 


53 




one, which was higher than the rest, was accommodated with 
a footstool of ivory, curiously carved. 

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great waxen 
torches, served to illuminate this apartment. Yet let not 
modern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon princess. 
The walls of the apartment were so ill finished and so full of 
crevices, that the rich hangings shook to the night blast, and, 
in despite of a sort of screen intended to protect them from 
the wind, the flame of the torches streamed sideways into 
the air, like the unfurled pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence 
there was, with some rude attempt at taste; but of comfort 
there was little, and, being unknown, it was unmissed. 

The Lady Eowena, with three of her attendants standing 
at her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay down to rest, 
was seated in the sort of throne already mentioned, and 
looked as if born to exact general homage. The Pilgrim 
acknowledged her claim to it by a low genuflection. 

^^Eise, Palmer,” said she graciously. ^^The defender of the 
absent has a right to favourable reception from all who value 
truth, and honour manhood.” She then said to her train, 
^^Eetire, excepting only Elgitha ; I would speak with this holy 
Pilgrim.” 

The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired to its 
further extremity, and sat down on a small bench against the 
wall, where they remained mute as statues, though at such a 
distance that their whispers could not have interrupted the 
conversation of their mistress. 

^Tilgrim,” said the lady, after a moment’s pause, during 
which she seemed uncertain how to address him, “you this 
night mentioned a name — I mean,” she said, with a degree 
of effort, “the name of Ivanhoe, in the halls where by nature 
and kindred it should have sounded most acceptably ; and yet, 
such is the perverse course of fate, that of many whose hearts 
must have throbbed at the sound, I, only, dare ask you where, 
and in what condition, you left him of whom you spoke. — We 
heard that, having remained in Palestine, on account of his 
impaired health, after the departure of the English army, 
he had experienced the persecution of the French faction, to 
whom the Templars are known to be attached.” 

“I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered the 


t 

54 IVANHOE. 

Palmer, with a troubled voice. would I knew him better, 
since you, lady, are interested in his fate. He hath, 1 be- 
lieve, surmounted the persecution of his enemies in Palestine, 
and is on the eve of returning to England, where you, lady, 
must know better than I, what is his chance of happiness.^^ 

The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more particu- 
larly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected in his 
native country, and whether he would not be exposed to great 
dangers by the road. On the first point, the Palmer professed 
ignorance; on the second, he said that the voyage might be 
safely made by the way of Venice and Genoa, and from thence 
through France to England. ^Tvanhoe,^^ he said, ^Vas so well 
acquainted with the language and manners of the French, 
that there was no fear of his incurring any hazard during 
that part of his travels.^^ 

^^Would to God,” said the Lady Rowena, ^^he were here 
safely arrived, and able to bear arms in the approaching tour- 
ney, in which the chivalry of his land are expected to display 
their address and valour. Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh 
obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings when he 
reaches England. — How looked he, stranger, when you last 
saw him ? Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength 
and comeliness?” 

^^He was darker,” said the Palmer, ^^and thinner, than when 
he came from Cyprus^ in the train of Coeur-de-Lion,^ and care 
seemed to sit heavy on his brow; but I approached not his 
presence, because he is unknown to me.” 

‘‘He will,” said the lady, “I fear, find little in his native 
land to clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, 
good Pilgrim, for your information concerning the com- 
panion of my childhood. — Maidens,” she said, “draw near — 
offer the sleeping-cup to this holy man, whom I will no longer 
detain from repose.” 

One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containing a 
rich mixture of wine and spice, which Rowena barely put to 
her lips. It was then offered to the Palmer, who, after a 
low obeisance, tasted a few drops. 

“Accept this alms, friend,” continued the lady, offering a 

^ Richard captured the island of Cy- * (Cur-d^-leon) the surname of Rich- 
prus on his way to Palestine. ard I. Lion-Heart. 


IVANHOE. 


55 


piece of gold, acknowledgment of thy painful travail, and 
of the shrines thou hast visited/’ 

The Palmer received the boon with another low reverence, 
and followed Elgitha out of the apartment. 

In the anteroom he found his attendant Anwold, who, 
taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-mai^ con- 
ducted him with more haste than ceremony to an exterior 
and ignoble part of the building, where a number of small 
apartments, or rather cells, served for sleeping places to the 
lower order of domestics, and to strangers of mean degree. 

^Tn which of these sleeps the Jew?” said the Pilgrim. 

^^The unbelieving dog,” answered Anwold, ^^kennels in the 
cell next your holiness. — St. Dunstan, how it must be scraped 
and cleansed ere it be again fit for a Christian !” 

‘^And where sleeps Gurth the swineherd ?” said the stranger. 

^^Gurth,” replied the bondsman, ^“^sleeps in the cell on your 
right, as the Jew on that to your left; you serve to keep the 
child of circumcision separate from the abomination of his 
tribe. You might have occupied a more honourable place had 
you accepted of Oswald’s invitation.” 

‘Tt is as well as it is,” said the Palmer ; ^The company, even 
of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination through an oaken 
partition.” 

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and taking 
the torch from the domestic’s hand, thanked him and wished 
him good-night. Having shut the door of his cell, he placed 
the torch in a candlestick made of wood, and looked around 
his sleeping apartment, the furniture of which was of the 
most simple kind. It consisted of a rude wooden stool, and 
still ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffed with clean straw, and 
accommodated with two or three sheepskins by way of bed- 
clothes. 

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw himself, 
without taking off any part of his clothes, on this rude couch, 
and slept, or at least retained his recumbent posture, till the 
earliest sunbeams found their way through the little grated 
window, which served at once to admit both air and light to 
his uncomfortable cell. He then started up, and after repeat- 
ing his matins, and adjusting his dress, he left it, and en- 


56 


IVANHOE. 


tered that of Isaac the Jew, lifting the latch as gentl}^ as he 
could. 

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a couch 
similar to that on which the Palmer himself had passed the 
night. Such parts of his dress as the Jew had laid aside on 
the preceding evening, were disposed carefully around his 
person, as if to prevent the hazard of their being carried off 
during his slumbers. There was a trouble on his brow 
amounting almost to agony. His hands and arms moved con- 
vulsively, as if struggling with the nightmare; and besides 
several ejaculations in Hebrew, the following were distinctly 
heard in the Horman-English, or mixed language of the coun- 
try : ^^For the sake of the God of Abraham, spare an unhappy 
old man! I am poor, I am penniless — should your irons 
wrench my limbs asunder, I could not gratify you 1^^ 

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s vision, but 
stirred him with his pilgrim’s staff. The touch probably asso- 
ciated, as is usual, with some of the apprehensions excited by 
his dream ; for the old man started up, his grey hair standing 
almost erect upon his head, and huddling some part of his 
garments about him, while he held the detached pieces with the 
tenacious grasp of a falcon, he fixed upon the Palmer his 
keen black eyes, expressive of wild surprise and of bodily 
apprehension. 

^^Fear nothing from me, Isaac,” said the Palmer; come 
as your friend.” 

^The God of Israel requite you,” said the Jew, greatly 
relieved; ^‘1 dreamed — But Father Abraham be praised, it 
was but a dream.” Then, collecting himself, he added in 
his usual tone, “And what may it be your pleasure to want 
at so early an hour with the poor Jew?” 

“It is to tell you,” said the Palmer, “that if you leave not 
this mansion instantly, and travel not with some haste, your 
Journey may prove a dangerous one.” 

“Holy father!” said the Jew, “whom could it interest to 
endanger so poor a wretch as I am?” 

“The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pilgrim ; “but 
rely on this, that when the Templar crossed the hall yester- 
night, he spoke to his Mussulman slaves in the Saracen lan- 
guage, which I well understand, and charged them this morn- 


IVANHOE. 


57 


ing to watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon him when 
at a convenient distance from the mansion, and to conduct 
him to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin, or to that of Kegi- 
nald Front-de-Boeuf.” 

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror which 
seized upon the J ew at this information, and seemed at once to 
overpower his whole faculties. His arms fell down to his 
sides, and his head drooped on his breast, his knees bent 
under his weight, every nerve and muscle of his frame seemed 
to collapse and lose its energy, and he sunk at the foot of the 
Palmer, not in the fashion of one who intentionally stoops, 
kneels, or prostrates himself to excite compassion, but like a 
man borne down on all sides by the pressure of some invisible 
force, which crushes him to the earth without the power of 
resistance. 

“Holy God of Abraham V’ was his first exclamation, folding 
and elevating his wrinkled hands, but without raising his grey 
head from the pavement ; “0 holy Moses ! 0 blessed Aaron ! 
the dream is not dreamed for nought, and the vision cometh 
not in vain ! I feel their irons already tear my sinews ! I feel 
the rack pass over my body like the saws, and harrows, and 
axes of iron over the men of Eabbah, and of the cities of the 
children of Ammon F’ 

“Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,^^ said the Palmer, 
who viewed the extremity of his distress with a compassion in 
which contempt was largely mingled; “you have cause for 
your terror, considering how your brethren have been used, in 
order to extort from them their hoards, both by princes and 
nobles; but stand up, I say, and I will point out to you the 
means of escape. Leave this mansion instantly, while its 
inmates sleep sound after the last nighPs revel. I will guide 
you by the secret paths of the forest, known as well to me as 
to any forester that ranges it,^and I will not leave you till you 
are under safe conduct of some chief or baron going to the 
tournament, whose good-will you have probably the means 
of securing.^^ 

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which this 
speech intimated, he began gradually, and inch by inch, as it 
were, to raise himself up from the ground, until he fairly 
rested upon his knees, throwing back his long grey hair and 

1 How should the Palmer be so familiar with these paths? 


58 


IVANHOE. 


beard, and fixing his keen black eyes upon the Palmer’s face, 
with a look expressive at once of hope and fear, not unmingled 
with suspicion. But when he heard the concluding part of 
the sentence, his original terror appeared to revive in full 
force, and he dropped once more on his face, exclaiming, 
possess the means of securing good-will ! alas ! there is but 
one road to the favour of a Christian, and how can the poor 
Jew find it, whom extortions have already reduced to the 
misery of Lazarus^ ?” Then, as if suspicion had overpowered 
his other feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, ‘‘For the love of 
God, young man, betray me not — for the sake of the Great 
Father who made us all, Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite, and 
Ishmaelite — do me no treason! I have not means to secure 
the good-will of a Christian beggar, were he rating it at a 
single penny.” As he spoke these last words, he raised him- 
self, and grasped the Palmer’s mantle with a look of the 
most earnest entreaty. The pilgrim extricated himself, as if 
there were contamination in the touch. 

“Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,” he 
said, “what interest have I to injure thee? — In this dress I 
am vowed to poverty, nor do I change it for aught save a 
horse and a coat of mail. Yet think not that I care for thy 
company, or propose myself advantage by it; remain here if 
thou wilt — Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.” 

“Alas I” said the J ew, “he. will not let me travel in his train 
— Saxon or Norman will be equally ashamed of the poor Is- 
raelite; and to travel by myself through the domains of 
Philip de Malvoisin and Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf — Good 
youth, I will go with you — Let us haste — let us gird up our 
lions — let us flee ! — Here is thy staff, why wilt thou tarry ?” 

“I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the urgency 
of his companion; “but I must secure the means of leaving 
this place — follow me.” 

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the reader is 
apprised, was occupied by Gurth the swineherd. — “Arise, 
Gurth,” said the Pilgrim, “arise quickly. Undo the postern 
gate,^ and let out the Jew and me.” 

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, gave 
him as much consequence in Saxon England as that of 

* Lukexvi; 20, 21. 2 a small back gate. 


IVANHOE. 


^9 


Eumffius in Ithaca/ was offended by the familiar and com- 
manding tone assumed by the Palmer. ‘^The Jew leaving 
Eotherwood/^ said he, raising himself on his elbow, and look- 
ing superciliously at him without quitting his pallet, ‘^and 
travelling in company with the Palmer to boot — ” 

should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba, who entered 
the apartment at that instant, ^“^of his stealing away with a 
gammon of bacon.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his head on 
the wooden log which served him for a pillow, “both Jew 
and Gentile must be content to abide the opening of the 
great gate — we suffer no visitors to depart by stealth at these 
unseasonable hours.” 

“Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding tone, 
“you will not, I think, refuse me that favour.” 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent swine- 
herd, and whispered something in his ear^ in Saxon. Gurth 
started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, raising his finger in 
an attitude as if to express caution, added, “Gurth, beware — 
thou art wont to be prudent. I say, undo the postern — thou 
shalt know more anon.” 

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba and 
the Jew followed, both wondering at the sudden change in 
the swineherd^s demeanour. 

“My mule, my mule !” said the J ew, as soon as they stood 
without the postern. 

“Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim; “and, hearest 
thou, — let me have another, that I may bear him company till 
he is beyond these parts — I will return it safely to some of 
Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do thou — ” he whispered the 
rest in Gurth’s ear. 

“Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,” said Gurth, 
and instantly departed to execute the commission. 

“I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s back 
was turned, “what you Palmers learn in the Holy Land.” 

“To say our orisons^, fool,” answered the Pilgrim, “to 
repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves with fastings, vigils, 
and long prayers.” 

* one of the Ionian Isles on the west of Eumseus was the swineherd of Ulysses. 
Greece. It was the royal seat of Ulys- * What could he have said to him? 
see described in Homer’s Odyssey. » prayers. 


60 


IVANHOE. 


^^Something more potent than that/’ answered the Jester; 
^^for when would repentance or prayer make Gurth do a 
courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him to lend you a mule ? 
— I trow^ you might as well have told his favourite black 
boar of thy vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten as 
civil an answer.” 

^^Go to,” said the Pilgrim, ^^thou art but a Saxon fool.” 

^^Thou sayst well,” said the Jester; ^^had I been born a 
Norman, as I think thou art, I would have had luck on my 
side, and been next door to a wise man.” 

At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side of the 
moat^ with the mules. The travellers crossed the ditch upon a 
drawbridge of only two planks’ breadth, the narrowness of 
which was matched with the straitness^ of the postern, and 
with a little wicket in the exterior palisade, which gave access 
to the forest. No sooner had they reached the mules, than 
the Jew, with hasty and trembling hands, secured behind the 
saddle a small bag of blue buckram, which he took from 
under his cloak, containing, as he muttered, ^^a change of 
raiment — only a change of raiment.” Then getting upon the 
animal with more alacrity and haste than could have been 
anticipated from his years, he lost no time in so disposing of 
the skirts of his gaberdine as to conceal completely from 
observation the burden which he had thus deposited en 
croupe^ 

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reaching, as 
he departed, his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with the utmost 
possible veneration. The swineherd stood gazing after the 
travellers until they were lost under the boughs of the forest 
path, when he was disturbed from his reverie by the voice of 
Wamba. 

‘‘Knowest thou,” said the Jester, ^^my good friend Gurth, 
that thou art strangely courteous and most unwontedly pious 
on this summer morning? I would I were a black Prior or 
a barefoot Palmer, to avail myself of thy unwonted zeal and 
courtesy — certes,® I would make more out of it than a kiss of 
the hand.” 


1 think. * behind him under his cloak as he 

2 a ditch surrounding a castle or fort. rides. 

* narrowness. 6 certainly. 


IVANHOE. 


61 


^^Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba/’ answered Gurth, 
^^though thou arguest from appearances, and the wisest of us 
can do no more. — But it is time to look after my charge.” 

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by the 
J ester. 

Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on their journey 
with a dispatch which argued the extremity of the Jew^s fears, 
since persons at his age are seldom fond of rapid motion. 
The Palmer, to whom every path and outlet in the wood 
appeared to be familiar, led the way through the most devious 
paths, and more than once excited anew the suspicion of the 
Israelite, that he intended to betray him into some ambuscade 
of his enemies. 

His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, except 
perhaps the flying fish, there was no race existing on the 
earth, in the air, or the waters, who were the object of such an 
unintemiitting, general, and relentless persecution as the 
Jews of this period. Upon the slightest and most unreason- 
able pretences, as well as upon accusations the most absurd 
and groundless, their persons and property were exposed to 
every turn of popular fury; for Norman, Saxon, Dane, and 
Briton, however adverse these races were to each other, con- 
tended which should look with greatest detestation upon a 
people, whom it was accounted a point of religion to hate, 
to revile, to despise, to plunder, and to persecute. The kings 
of the Norman race, and the independent nobles, who fol- 
lowed their example in all acts of tyranny, maintained against 
this devoted people a persecution of a more regular, calcu- 
lated, and self-interested kind. It is a well-known story of 
King John, that he confined a wealthy Jew in one of the 
royal castles, and daily caused one of his teeth to be torn 
out, until, when the jaw of the unhappy Israelite was half 
disfurnished, he consented to pay a large sum, which it was 
the tyrant’s object to extort from him. The little ready 
money which was in the country was chiefly in possession of 
this persecuted people, and the nobility hesitated not to 
follow the example of their sovereign, in wringing it from 
them by every species of oppression, and even personal tor- 
ture. Yet the passive courage inspired by the love of gain, 
induced the Jews to dare the various evils to which they 


62 


IVANHOE. 


were subjected, in consideration of the immense profits which 
they were enabled to realize in a country naturally so wealthy 
as England. In spite of every kind of discouragement, and 
even of the special court of taxations already mentioned, 
called the Jews^ Exchequer, erected for the very purpose of 
despoiling and distressing them, the Jews increased, multi- 
plied, and accumulated huge sums, which they transferred 
from one hand to another by means of bills of exchange — an 
invention for which commerce is said to be indebted to them, 
and which enabled them to transfer their wealth from land 
to land, that, when threatened with oppression in one coun- 
try, their treasure might be secured in another. 

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in a 
measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and tyranny 
of those under whom they lived, seemed to increasein pro- 
portion to the persecution with which they were visited ; and 
the immense wealth they usually acquired in commerce, while 
it frequently placed them in danger, was at other times used 
to extend their influence, and to secure to them a certain 
degree of protection. On these terms they lived; and their 
character, influenced accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, 
and timid — yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skilful in evad- 
ing the dangers to which they were exposed. 

When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate through 
many devious paths, the Palmer at length broke silence. 

^‘That large decayed oak,” he said, ‘^‘^marks the boundaries 
over which Front-de-Boeuf claims authority — we are long 
since far from those of Malvoisin. There is now no fear of 
pursuit.” 

^^May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,” said the 
Jew, ^dike those of the host of Pharaoh,^ that they may 
drive heavily ! — But leave me not, good Pilgrim. — Think but 
of that fierce and savage Templar, with his Saracen slaves — 
they will regard neither territory, nor manor, nor lordship.” 

^^Our road,” said the Palmer, ^^should here separate; for 
it beseems hot men of my character and thine to travel to- 
gether longer than needs must be. Besides, what succour 
couldst thou have from me, a peaceful Pilgrim, against two 
armed heathens?” 


Exodus xiv : 25. 


IVANHOE. 


63 


^^0 good youth/’ answered the J ew, ^^thou canst defend me, 
and I know thon wonldst. Poor as I am, I will requite it — 
not with money, for money, so help me, my Father Abraham, 
I have none — but — ” 

‘^Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, interrupting 
him, “1 have already said I require not of thee. Guide thee 
I can, and, it may be, even in some sort defend thee ; since to 
protect a Jew against a Saracen, can scarce be accounted un- 
worthy of a Christian, Therefore, Jew, I will see thee safe 
under some fitting escort. We are now not far from the town 
of Sheffield, where thou mayest easily find many of thy tribe 
with whom to take refuge.” 

“The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth!” said 
the J ew ; “in Sheffield I can harbour with my kinsman Zareth 
and find some means of travelling forth with safety.” 

“Be it so,” said the Palmer; “at Sheffield then we part, 
and half-an-hour’s riding will bring us in sight of that town.” 

The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both parts; 
the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address the Jew, except in 
ease of absolute necessity, and the J ew not presuming to force 
a conversation with a person whose journey to the Holy 
Sepulchre gave a sort of sanctity to his character. They 
paused on the top of a gently rising bank, and the Pilgrim, 
pointing to the town of Sheffield, which lay beneath them, 
repeated the words, “Here, then, we part.” 

“Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” said Isaac ; 
“for I presume not to ask you to go with me to my kinsman 
Zareth’s, who might aid me with some means of repaying your 
good offices.” 

“I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, “that I desire 
no recompense. If, among the huge list of thy debtors, thou 
wilt, for my sake, spare the g 3 wes and the dungeon to some 
unhappy Christian who stands in thy danger, I shall hold this 
morning’s service to thee well bestowed.” 

“Stay, stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his garment; 
^^something would I do more than this, something for thyself. 
God knows the Jew is poor — yes, Isaac is the beggar of his 
tribe — but forgive me should I guess what thou most lackest 
at this moment.” 

“If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “it is what 


64 


IVANHOE. 


thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou sayest 
thou art poor/^ 

^^As I say?^^ echoed the Jew; ^^0 ! believe it, I say but the 
truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed man. Hard 
hands have wrung from me my goods, my money, my ships, 
and all that I possessed. — Yet I can tell thee what thou lack- 
est, and, it may be, supply it, too. Thy wish even now is 
for a horse and armour.’^ 

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the Jew. 
— ‘^What fiend prompted that guess said he hastily. 

^^No more of said the Jew, changing colour; and 

one — and, as I can guess thy want, so I can supply it.^^ 

^‘But consider,” said the Palmer, ^‘^my character, my dress, 
my vow.” 

know you Christians,” replied the Jew, ‘^and that the 
noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in superstitious 
penance, and walk afoot to visit the graves of dead men.” 

^^Blaspheme not, Jew,” said the Pilgrim, sternly. 

^^Porgive me,” said the Jew; spoke rashly. But there 
dropped words from you last night and this morning, that, 
like sparks from flint, showed the metal within; and in the 
bosom of that Palmer’s gown is hidden a knight’s chain and 
spurs of gold. They glanced as you stooped over my bed 
in the morning.” 

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. ^^Were thy gar- 
ments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,” said he, ^Vhat 
discoveries might not be made?” 

^‘No more of that,” said the Jew, changing colour; and 
drawing forth his writing materials in haste, as if to stop 
the conversation, he began to write upon a piece of paper 
which he supported on the top of his yellow cap, without 
dismounting from his mule. When he had finished, he de- 
livered the scroll, which was in the Hebrew character, to the 
Pilgrim, saying, ^Tn the town of Leicester^ all men know the 
rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam of Lombardy; give him this scroll 
— he hath on sale six Milan harnesses,^ the worst would suit 
a crowned head — ten goodly steeds, the worst might mount 
a king, were he to do battle for his throne. Of these he will 
give thee thy choice, with everything else that can furnish 

1 about midway between London and Liverpool. 

2 armor made at Milan, Italy. 


IVANHOE. 


65 


thee forth for the tournament: when it is over, thou wilt 
return them safely — ^unless thou shouldst have wherewith to 
pay their value to the owner.” 

^^But, Isaac,” said the Pilgrim, smiling, ^^dost thou know 
that in these sports, the arms and steed of the knight who is 
unhorsed are forfeit to his victor? Now I may be unfor- 
tunate, and so lose what I cannot replace or repay.” 

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this possibility; 
but collecting his courage, he replied hastily: ‘^No — no — 
no — It is impossible — I will not think so. The blessing of 
Our Father will be upon thee. Thy lance will be powerful 
as the rod of Moses.”^ 

So saying, he was turning his mule^s head away, when the 
Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine. ^^Nay, but 
Isaac, thou knowest not all the risk. The steed may be slain, 
the armour injured — for I will spare neither horse nor man. 
Besides, those of thy tribe give nothing for nothing; some- 
thing there must be paid for their use.” 

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man in a fit 
of the colic; but his better feelings predominated over those 
which were most familiar to him. ‘T care not,” he said, 
care not — let me go. If there is damage, it will cost you 
nothing — if there is usage money, Kirjath Jairam will for- 
give it for the sake of his kinsman Isaac. Fare thee well ! — 
Yet hark thee, good youth,” said he, turning about; ^Thrust 
thyself not too forward into this vain hurly-burly^ — I speak 
not for endangering the steed, and coat of armour, but for the 
sake of thine own life and limbs.” 

^^Gramercy^ for thy caution,” said the Palmer, again smil- 
ing; will use thy courtesy frankly, and it will go hard 
with me but I will requite it.” 

They parted and took different roads for the town of Shef- 
field. 

1 Exodus iv : 1-3. 1-3. ® Many thanks. French, grand merci 

2 Tumult attending the contests of great thanks, 
the approaching tournament. 


66 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEE VII 

CONDITION OP ENGLAND IN THE ABSENCE OF KING RICHARD. THE 
LISTS AT ASHBY DESCRIBED. ISAAC AND THE BEAUTIFUL REBECCA. 
ATHELSTANE INTRODUCED. PRINCE JOHN, SPLENDID AND IM- 
PERIOUS. 

The condition of the English nation was at this time 
sufficiently miserable. King Eichard was absent a prisoner, 
and in the power of the perfidious and cruel Duke of Austria. 
Even the very place of his captivity was uncertain, and his 
fate but very imperfectly known to the generality of his sub- 
jects, who were, in the meantime, a prey to every species of 
subaltern oppression. 

Prince John, in league with Philip of France, Coeur-de- 
Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of influence with 
the Duke of Austria, to prolong the captivity of his brother 
Eichard, to whom he stood indebted for so many favours. In 
the meantime, he was strengthening his own faction in the 
kingdom, of which he proposed to dispute the succession, in 
case of the King’s death, with the legitimate heir, Arthur, 
Duke of Brittany, son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, the elder 
brother of John. This usurpation, it is well known, he after- 
wards effected. His own character being light, profligate, and 
perfidious, John easily attached to his person and faction, not 
only all who had reason to dread the resentment of Eichard 
for criminal proceedings during his absence, but also the 
numerous class of ^flawless resolutes,” whom the crusades had 
turned back on their country, accomplished in the vices of 
the East, impoverished in substance, and hardened in charac- 
ter, and who placed their hopes of harvest in civil commotion. 

To these causes of public distress and apprehension, must 
be added the multitude of outlaws, who, driven to despair by 
the oppression of the feudal nobility, and the severe exercise 
of the forest laws, banded together in large gangs, and, keep- 
ing possession of the forests and the wastes, set at defiance 
the justice and magistracy of the country. The nobles them- 
selves, each fortified within his own castle, and playing the 
petty sovereign over his own dominions, were the leaders of 


IVANHOE. 


67 


bands scarce less lawless and oppressive than those of the 
avowed depredators. To maintain these retainers, and to 
support the extravagance and magnificence which their pride 
induced them to affect, the nobility borrowed sums of money 
from the Jews at the most usurious interest, which gnawed 
into their estates like consuming cankers, scarce to be cured 
unless when circumstances gave them an opportunity of get- 
ting free, by exercising upon their creditors some act of un- 
principled violence. 

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy state 
of affairs, the people of England suffered deeply for the 
present, and had yet more dreadful cause to fear for the 
future. To augment their misery, a contagious disorder of 
a dangerous nature spread through the land; and, rendered 
more virulent by the uncleanness, the indifferent food, and 
the wretched lodging of the lower classes, swept off many 
whose fate the survivors were tempted to envy, as exempting 
them from the evils which were to come. 

Yet amid these accumulated distresses, the poor as well as 
the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in the event of a 
tournament, which was the grand spectacle of that age, felt 
as much interested as the half-starved citizen of Madrid, who 
has not a reaT left to buy provisions for his family, feels in 
the issue of a bull-feast. Neither duty nor infirmity could 
keep youth or age from such exhibitions. The Passage of 
Arms, as it was called, which was to take place at Ashby, in 
the county of Leicester, as champions of the first renown 
■^^ere to take the field in the presence of Prince John himself, 
who was expected to grace the lists, had attracted universal 
attention, and an immense confluence of persons of all ranks 
hastened upon the appointed morning to the place of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of a 
wood, which approached to within a mile of the town of 
Ashby, was an extensive meadow, of the finest and most beau- 
tiful green turf, surrounded on one side by the forest, and 
fringed on the other by straggling oak-trees, some of which 
had grown to an immense size. The ground, as if fashioned 
on purpose for the martial display which was intended, sloped 
gradually down on all sides to a level bottom, which was 

1 a Spanish silver coin, worth about five cents. 


68 


IVANHOE. 


enclosed for the lists with strong palisades, forming a space 
of a quarter of a mile in length, and about half as broad. 
The form of the enclosure was an oblong square, save that 
the corners were considerably rounded off, in order to afford 
more convenience for the spectators. The openings for the 
entry of the combatants were at the northern and southern 
extremities of the lists, accessible by strong wooden gates, 
each wide enough to admit two horsemen riding abreast. At 
each of these portals were stationed two heralds, attended 
by six trumpets, as many pursuivants,^ and a strong body of 
men-at-arms for maintaining order, and ascertaining the 
quality of the knights who proposed to engage in this martial 
game. 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed by a 
natural elevation of the ground, were pitched five magnificent 
pavilions, adorned with pennons^ of russet and black, the 
chosen colours of the five knights challengers. The cords of 
the tents were of the same color. Before each pavilion was 
suspended the shield of the knight by whom it was occupied, 
and beside it stood his squire,® quaintly disguised as a salvage^ 
or silvan man, or in some other fantastic dress, according to 
the taste of his master, and the character he was pleased to 
assume during the game. The central pavilion, as the place 
of honour, had been assigned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose 
renown in all games of chivalry,^ no less his connection with 
the knights who had undertaken this Passage of Arms, had 
occasioned him to be eagerly received into the company of 
the challengers, and even adopted as their chief and leader, 
though he had so recently joined them. On one side of his 
tent were pitched those of Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf and Eich- 
ard de Malvoisin, and on the other was the pavilion of Hugh 
de Grantmesnil, a noble baron in the vicinity, whose ancestor 
had been Lord High Steward of England in the time of the 
Conqueror, and his son William Eufus. Ealph de Vipont, a 
knight of St. John of Jerusalem, who had some ancient pos- 
sessions at a place called Heather, near Ashby-de-la-Zouche, 
occupied the fifth pavilion. From the entrance into the lists, 

1 attendants or heralds. b (from cheval, horse) was at first 

2 small banners or flags. a body of knights or horsemen; it 

3 attendant on a knight. means here the knightly system of 

* woodsman. feudal times. 


IVANHOE. 


69 


a gently sloping passage, ten yards in breadth, led up to the 
platform on which the tents were pitched. It was strongly 
secured by a palisade on each side, as was the esplanade^ in 
front of the pavilions, and the whole was guarded by men- 
at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a similar 
•entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at the extremity of which 
was a large enclosed space for such knights as might be dis- 
posed to enter the lists with the challengers, behind which 
were placed tents containing refreshments of every kind for 
their accommodation, with armourers, farriers, and other at- 
tendants, in readiness to give their services wherever they 
might be necessary. 

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by temporary 
galleries, spread with tapestry and carpets, and accommo- 
dated with cushions for the convenience of those ladies and 
nobles who were expected to attend the tournament. A nar- 
row space, betwixt these galleries and the lists, gave accom- 
modation for yeomanry^ and spectators of a better degree 
than the mere vulgar, and might be compared to the pit of 
a theatre. The promiscuous multitude arranged themselves 
upon large banks of turf prepared for the purpose, which, 
aided by the natural elevation of the ground, enabled them 
to overlook the galleries, and obtain a fair view into the lists. 
Besides the accommodation which these stations afforded, 
many hundreds had perched themselves on the branches of 
the trees which surrounded the meadow; and even the steeple 
of a country church, at some distance, was crowded with 
spectators. 

It only remains to notice respecting the general arrange- 
ment, that one gallery in the very center of the eastern side 
of the lists, and consequently exactly opposite to the spot 
where the shock of the combat was to take place, was raised 
higher than the others, more richly decorated, and graced by 
a sort of throne and canopy, on which the royal arms were 
emblazoned.^ Squires, pages, and yeomen in rich liveries 
waited around this place of honour, which was designed for 
Prince John and his attendants. Opposite to this royal gal- 

‘ level open space. the gentry. 

* small landowners, ranking next to ® displayed conspicuously. 


70 


IVANHOE. 


lery was another, elevated to the same height, on the western 
side of the lists; and more gaily, if less sumptuously deco- 
rated, than that destined far the Prince himself. A train of 
pages and of young maidens, the most beautiful who could 
be selected, gaily dressed in fancy habits of green and pink, 
surounded a throne decorated in the same colours. Among 
pennons and flags bearing wounded hearts, burning hearts, 
bleeding hearts, bows and quivers, and all the commonplace 
emblems of the triumphs of Cupid, a blazoned inscription in- 
formed the spectators that this seat of honour was designed for 
La Royne de la Beaulte et des Amours. But who was to rep- 
resent the Queen of Beauty and of Love on the present occa- 
sion, no one was prepared to guess. 

Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged for- 
ward to occupy their respective stations, and not without 
many quarrels concerning those which they were entitled to 
hold. Some of these were settled by the men-at-arms with 
brief ceremony; the shafts of their battle-axes and pummels 
of their swords being readily employed as arguments to con- 
vince the more refractory. Others, which involved the rival 
claims of more elevated persons, were determined by the 
heralds or by the two marshals of the fleld, William de Wyvil, 
and Stephen de Marti val, who, armed at all points, rode up 
and down the lists to enforce and preserve good order among 
the spectators. 

Gradually the galleries became fllled with knights and 
nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and rich-tinted 
mantles were contrasted with the gayer and more splendid 
habits of the ladies, who, in a greater portion than even the 
men themselves, thronged to witness a sport, which one would 
have thought too bloody and dangerous to afford their sex 
much pleasure. The lower and interior space was soon fllled 
by substantial yeomen and burghers; and such of the lesser 
gentry, as from modesty, poverty, or dubious title durst not 
assume any higher place. It was of course amongst these that 
the most frequent disputes for precedence occurred. 

^^Dog of an unbeliever,^’ said an old man, whose thread- 
bare tunic bore witness to his poverty, as his sword, and 
dagger, and golden chain intimated his pretensions to rank, 
^Vhelp of a she-wolf! darest thou press upon a Christian, 


IVANHOE. 


71 


and a ISTorman gentleman of the blood of Montdidier 

This rough expostulation was addressed to no other than 
our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and even magnificently 
dressed in a gaberdine ornamented with lace and lined with 
fur, was endeavouring to make place in the foremost row 
beneath the gallery for his daughter, the beautiful Eebecca, 
who had joined him at Ashby, and who was now hanging on 
her father’s arm, not a little terrified by the popular dis- 
pleasure which seemed generally excited by her parent’s pre- 
sumption. But Isaac, though we have seen him sufficiently 
timid on other occasions, knew well that at present he had 
nothing to fear. It was not in places of general resort, or 
where their equals were assembled, that any avaricious or 
malevolent noble durst offer him injury. At such meetings 
the Jews were under the protection of the general law; 
and if that proved a weak assurance, it usually happened that 
there were among the persons assembled some barons, who, 
for their own interested motives, were ready to act as their 
protectors. On the present occasion, Isaac felt more than 
usually confident, being aware that Prince John was even 
then in the very act of negotiating a large loan from the 
Jews of York, to be secured upon certain jewels and lands. 
Isaac’s own share in this transaction was considerable, and 
he well knew that the Prince’s eager desire to bring it to a 
conclusion would ensure him his protection in the dilemma 
in which he stood. 

Emboldened by these considerations, the Jew pursued his 
point, and jostled the Norman Christian, without respect 
either to his descent, quality, or religion. The complaints of 
the old man, however, excited the indignation of the by- 
standers. One of these, a stout, well-set yeoman, arrayed in 
Lincoln-green^, having twelve arrows stuck in his belt, with 
a baldric and badge of silver, and a bow of six feet length in 
his hand, turned short round, and while his countenance, 
which his constant exposure to weather had rendered brown 
as a hazel nut, grew darker with anger, he advised the J ew to 
remember that all the wealth he had acquired by sucking the 
blood of his miserable victims had but swelled him like a 
bloated spider, which might be overlooked while it kept in a 

» Cloth so named because dyed with especial skill at Lincoln, England. 


72 


IVANHOE. 


corner, but would be crushed if it ventured into the light. 
This intimation, delivered in Norman-English with a firm 
voice and a stern aspect, made the Jew shrink back; and he 
would have probably withdrawn himself altogether from a 
vicinity so dangerous, had not the attention of every one been 
called to the sudden entrance of Prince John, who at that 
moment entered the lists, attended by a numerous and gay 
train, consisting partly of laymen, partly of churchmen, as 
light in their dress, and as gay in their demeanour, as their 
companions. Among the latter was the Prior of Jorvaulx, in 
the most gallant trim which a dignitary of the church could 
venture to exhibit. Fur and gold were not spared in his 
garments; and the point of his boots, out-heroding the pre- 
posterous fashion of the time, turned up so very far, as to 
be attached, not to his knees merely, but to his very girdle, 
and effectually prevented him from putting his foot into the 
stirrup. This, howevey, was a slight inconvenience to the 
gallant Abbot, who, perhaps, even rejoicing in the opportu- 
nity to display his accomplished horsemanship before so many 
spectators, especially of the fair sex, dispensed with the use 
of these supports to a timid rider. The rest of Prince John’s 
retinue consisted of the favourite leaders of his mercenary 
troops, some marauding barons and profligate attendants 
upon the court, with several Knights Templars and Knights 
of St. John. 

It may be here remarked, that the knights of these two 
orders were accounted hostile to King Eichard, having 
adopted the side of Philip of France in the long train of 
disputes which took place in Palestine betwixt that monarch 
and the lion-hearted King of England. It was the well- 
known consequence of this discord that Eichard’s repeated 
victories had been rendered fruitless, his romantic attempts 
to besiege Jerusalem disappointed, and the fruit of all the 
glory which he had acquired had dwindled into an uncertain 
truce with the Sultan Saladin. With the same policy which 
had dictated the conduct of their brethren in the Holy Land, 
the Templars and Hospitallers in England and Normandy 
attached themselves to the faction of Prince John, having lit- 
tle reason to desire the return of Eichard to England, or the 
succession of Arthur, his legitimate heir. For the opposite 


IVANHOE. 


73 


reason^. Prince John hated and contemned the few Saxon 
families of consequence which subsisted in England, and 
omitted no opportunity of mortifying and affronting them, 
being conscious that his person and pretensions were disliked 
by them as well as by the greater part of the English com- 
mons, who feared farther innovation upon their rights and 
liberties, from a sovereign of John’s licentious and tyrannical 
disposition. 

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well mounted, 
and splendidly dressed in crimson and in gold, bearing upon 
his hand a falcon, and having his head covered by a rich fur 
bonnet,^ adorned with a circle of precious stones, from which 
his long curled hair escaped and overspread his shoulders. 
Prince John, upon a grey and high-mettled palfrey, caracoled 
within the lists at the head of his jovial party, laughing loud 
with his train, and eyeing with all the boldness of royal 
criticism the beauties who adorned the lofty galleries. 

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of the Prince a 
dissolute audacity, mingled with extreme haughtiness and 
indifference to the feelings of others, could not yet deny to 
his countenance that sort of comeliness which belongs to an 
open set of features, well formed by nature, modelled by art 
to the usual rules of courtesy, yet so frank and honest that 
they seemed as if they disclaimed to conceal the natural 
workings of the soul. Such an expression is often mistaken 
for manly frankness, when in truth it arises from the reckless 
indifference of a libertine disposition, conscious of superiority 
of birth, of wealth, or of some other adventitious advantage, 
totally unconnected with personal merit. To those who did 
not think so deeply, and they were the greater number by a 
hundred to one, the splendour of Prince John’s rheno {i.e., 
fur tippet), the richness of his cloak, lined with the most 
costly sables, his maroquin^ boots and golden spurs, together 
with the grace with which he managed his palfrey, were suf- 
ficient to merit clamourous applause. 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attention of the 
Prince was called by the commotion, not yet subsided, which 
had attended the ambitious movement of Isaac towards the 

* Why did the Prince dislike such * we should say. 

families as Cedric’s? ® morocco. 


74 


IVANHOE. 


higher places of the assembly. The quick eye of Prince John 
instantly recognised the Jew. but was much more agree- 
ably attracted by the beautiful daughter of Zion, who, 
terrified by the tumult, clung close to the arm of her aged 
father. 

The figure of Eebecca might indeed have compared with 
the proudest beauties of England, even though it had been 
judged by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince John. Her form 
was exquisitely symmetrical, and was shown to advantage by 
a sort of Eastern dress, which she wore according to the 
fashion of the females of her nation. Her turban of yellow 
silk suited well with the darkness of her complexion. The 
brilliancy of her eyes, the superb arch of her eyebrows, her 
well-formed aquiline nose, her teeth as white as pearl, and the 
profusion of her sable tresses, which, each arranged in its 
own little spiral of twisted curls, fell down upon as much of a 
lovely neck and bosom as a simarre^ of the richest Persian 
silk, exhibiting flowers in their natural colours embossed upon 
a purple ground, permitted to be visible — all these constituted 
a combination of loveliness, which yielded not to the most 
beautiful of the maidens who surrounded her. It is true, 
that of the golden and pearl-studded clasps, which closed 
her vest from the throat to the waist, the three uppermost 
were left unfastened on account of the heat, which some- 
thing enlarged the prospect to which we allude. A diamond 
necklace, with pendants of inestimable value, were by this 
means also made more conspicuous. The feather of an 
ostrich, fastened in her turban by an agraffe^ set with bril- 
liants, was another distinction of the beautiful Jewess, scoffed 
and sneered at by the proud dames who sat above her, but 
secretly envied by those who affected to deride them. 

^'By the bald scalp of Abraham,” said Prince John, '^yon- 
der Jewess must be the very model of that perfection, whose 
charms drove frantic the wisest king that ever lived ! What 
sayest thou. Prior Aymer ? — By the Temple® of that wise king, 
which our wiser brother Eichard proved unable to recover, 
she is the very Bride of the Canticles !” 


1 a light robe. beautiful and lovely as the bride of 

2 clasp. the king is represented to be in the Can- 

* Temple of Solomon. Rebecca is as tides or Song of Solomon in the Bible. 


IVANHOE. 


75 


‘^The Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley/^^ answered 
the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone; ‘fflut your Grace must 
remember she is still but a Jewess/^ 

^‘Ay !” added Prince John, without heeding him, ^^and 
there is my Mammon of unrighteousness too — the Marquis 
of Marks, the Baron of Byzants, contesting for place with 
penniless dogs, whose threadbare cloaks have not a single 
cross in their pouches to keep the devil from dancing there. 
By the body of St. Mark, my prince of supplies, with his 
lovely Jewess, shall have a place in the gallery! — What is 
she, Isaac? Thy wife or thy daughter, that Eastern houri 
that thou lockest under thy arm as thou wouldst thy treasure- 
casket 

‘^My daughter Rebecca, so please your Grace,” answered 
Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrased by the Prince’s 
salutation, in which, however, there was at least as much 
mockery as courtesy. 

“The wdser man thou,” said John, with a peal of laughter, 
in which his gay followers obsequiously joined. “But, daugh- 
ter or wife, she should be preferred according to her beauty 
and thy merits. — -Who sits above there?” he continued, bend- 
ing his eye on the gallery. “Saxon churls, lolling at their 
lazy length ! — Out upon them ! — Let them sit close, and make 
room for my prince of usurers and his lovely daughter. I’ll 
make the hinds know they must share the high places of the 
synagogue with those whom the synagogue properly be- 
longs to.” 

Those who occupied the gallery to whom this injurious and 
unpolite speech was addressed, were the family of Cedric the 
Saxon, with that of his ally and kinsman, Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh, a personage who, on account of his descent 
from the last Saxon monarchs of England, was held in the 
highest respect by all the Saxon natives of the north of Eng- 
land. But with the blood of this ancient royal race, many of 
their infirmities had descended to Athelstane. He was comely 
in countenance, bulky and strong in person, and in the flower 
of his age — ^yet inanimate in expression, dull-eyed, heavy- 
browed, inactive and sluggish in all his motions, and so slow 

^ Song of Solomon ii:l. Sharon on the Mediterranean, famed for its 
was a district of Palestine, bordering roses. 


76 


IVANHOE. 


in resolution that the soubriquet of one of his ancestors was 
conferred upon him, and he was very generally called Athel- 
stane the Unready. His friends, and he had many, who, as 
well as Cedric, were passionately attached to him, contended 
that this sluggish temper arose not from want of courage, but 
from mere want of decision; others alleged that his heredi- 
tary vice of drunkenness had obscured his faculties, never 
of a very acute order, and that the passive courage and meek 
good-nature which remained behind were merely the dregs 
of a character that might have been deserving of praise, 
but of which all the valuable parts had flown off in the prog- 
ress of a long course of brutal debauchery. 

It was to this person, such as we have described him, that 
the Prince addressed his imperious command to make place 
for Isaac and Eebecca. Athelstane, utterly confounded at an 
order which the manners and feelings of the times rendered 
so injuriously insulting, unwilling to obey, yet undetermined 
how to resist, opposed only the vis inertiw to the will of 
John; and, without stirring or making any motion what- 
ever of obedience, opened his large grey eyes, and stared at 
the Prince with an astonishment which had in it something 
extremely ludicrous. But the impatient John regarded it in 
no such light. 

^^The Saxon porker,’’ he said, ‘fls either asleep or minds me 
not — prick him with your lance, De Bracy,” speaking to a 
knight who rode near him, the leader of a band of Free Com- 
panions, or Condottieri; that is, of mercenaries belonging to 
no particular nation, but attached for the time to any prince 
by whom they were paid. There was a murmur even among 
the attendants of Prince John; but De Bracy, whose profes- 
sion freed him from all scruples, extended his long lance over 
the space which separated the gallery from the lists, and 
would have executed the commands of the Prince before 
Athelstane the Unready had recovered presence of mind 
sufficient even to draw back his person from the weapon, 
had not Cedric, as prompt as his companion was tardy, un- 
sheathed, with the speed of lightning, the short sword which 
he wore, and at a single blow severed the point of the lance 
from the handle. The blood rushed into the countenance of 
Prince John. He swore one of his deepest oaths, and was 


IVANHOE. 


77 


about to utter some threat corresponding in violence, when 
he was diverted from his purpose, partly by his own attend- 
ants, who gathered around him conjuring him to be patient, 
partly by a general exclamation of the crowd, uttered in loud 
applause of the spirited conduct of Cedric. The Prince rolled 
his eyes in indignation, as if to collect some safe and easy 
victim; and chancing to encounter the firm glance of the 
same archer whom we have already noticed, and who seemed 
to persist in his gesture of applause, in spite of the frowning 
aspect which the Prince bent upon him, he demanded his 
reason for clamouring thus. 

always add my hollo,” said the yeoman, ^Vhen I see a 
good shot, or a gallant blow.” 

“Sayest thou?” answered the Prince; ^Then thou canst 
hit the white thyself, 1^11 warrant.” 

woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance, I can 
hit,” answered the yeoman. 

^^And Wat Tyrrel’s mark, at a hundred yards,” said a voice 
from behind, but by whom uttered could not be discerned. 

This allusion to the fate of William Eufus,^ his grandfather, 
at once incensed and alarmed Prince John. He satisfied 
himself, however, with commanding the men-at-arms, who 
surrounded the lists, to keep an eye on the braggart, pointing 
to the yeoman. 

^^By St. Grizzel,” he added, ^Ve will try his own skill, who 
is so ready to give his voice to the feats of others !” 

shall not fly the trial,” said the yeoman, with the com- 
posure which marked his whole deportment. 

“Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,” said the fiery 
Prince ; “for, by the light of Heaven, since I have said it, the 
Jew shall have his seat amongst ye !” 

“By no means, an it please your Grace! — it is not fit for 
such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,” said the Jew; 
whose ambition for precedence, though it had led him to 
dispute place with the extenuated and impoverished descend- 
ant of the line of Montdidier, by no means stimulated him to 
an intrusion upon the privileges of the wealthy Saxons. 

“Up, infidel when I command you,” said Prince John, 

1 William TI., Rufus, King of England Forest was accidentally killed with an 
(1087-1100), while hunting in New arrow shot by Walter Tyrrel. 


78 


IVANHOE. 


I will have thy swarthy hide stript otf, and tanned for 
horse-furniture 

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and narrow 
steps which led up to the gallery. 

‘^Let me see/^ said the Prince, ^Vho dare stop him !” fixing 
his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his intention to 
hurl the Jew down headlong. 

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, who, 
springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and exclaiming, in 
answer to the Prince’s defiance, ‘^Marry, that will I !” opposed 
to the beard of the Jew a shield of brawn,^ which he plucked 
from beneath his cloak, and with which, doubtless, he had 
furnished himself, lest the tournament should have proved 
longer than his appetite could endure abstinence. Finding 
the abomination of his tribe opposed to his very nose, while 
the Jester, at the same time, fiourished his wooden sword 
above his head, the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, and 
rolled down the steps, — an excellent jest to the spectators, who 
set up a loud laughter, in which Prince John and his at- 
tendants heartily joined. 

^^Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba; ‘T have 
vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword and shield,” he 
added, brandishing the brawn in one hand and the wooden 
sword in the other. 

“Who and what art thou, noble champion?” said Prince 
John, still laughing. 

“A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester; “I am 
Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son of Weatherbrain, 
who was the son of an Alderman.”^ 

“Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring,” said 
Prince John, not unwilling perhaps to seize an apology to 
desist from his original purpose; “to place the vanquished 
beside the victor were false heraldry.” 

“Knave upon fool were worse,” answered the Jester, “and 
Jew upon bacon worst of all.” 

“Gramercy ! good fellow,” cried Prince John, “thou pleas- 
est me — Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of byzants.” 

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afiyid to refuse, and 
unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred bag which hung 

1 flesh of boar or swine. Saxon lord or earl (Saxon eald, lAd; ealder, older) 


IVANHOE. 


79 


by his girdle, and was perhaps endeavouring to ascertain how 
few coins might pass for a handful, the Prince stooped from 
his jennet and settled Isaac’s doubts by snatching the pouch 
itself from his side; and flinging to Wamba a couple of the 
gold pieces which it contained, he pursued his career round 
the lists, leaving the Jew to the derision of those around 
him, and himself receiving as much applause from the specta- 
tors as if he had done some honest and honourable action. 

CHAPTEE VIII 

LAWS OF THE TOURNAMENT. THE BARRIERS OPENED. FIVE CHAM- 
PION KNIGHTS. THEIR ENCOUNTERS. CEDRIC AND ATHELSTANE. 
DEFIANT BLAST OF A SOLITARY TRUMPET. THE NEW CHAMPION 
CHALLENGES BRIAN DE BOIS-GUILBERT. HONORS TO THE “ DIS- 
INHERITED KNIGHT.” 

In the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he suddenly 
stopt, and appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, declared 
the principal business of the day had been forgotten. 

^‘^By my halidom,”^ said he, ‘‘we have neglected. Sir Prior, 
to name the fair Sovereign of Love and of Beauty, by whose 
white hand the palm is to be distributed. For my part, I 
am liberal in my ideas, and I care not if I give my vote for 
the black-eyed Eebecca.” 

^^Holy Virgin,” answered the Prior, turning up his eyes in 
horror, “a Jewess ! — We should deserve to be stoned out of 
the lists; and I am not yet old enough to be a martyr. Be- 
sides, I swear by my patron saint, that she is far inferior to 
the lovely Saxon, Eowena.” 

‘•Saxon or Jew,” answered the Prince, “Saxon or Jew, dog 
or hog, what matters it ! I say, name Eebecca, were it only to 
mortify the Saxon churls.” 

A murmur arose even among his own immediate attend- 
ants. 

“This passes a jest, my lord,” said De Bracy; “no knight 
here will lay lance in rest- if such an insult is attempted.” 

* Anglo-Saxon, halig, holy; dom worn, 
a suffix of nouns denoting quality, con- ^ The rest was a kind of hook fastened 
dition, etc.: hence holiness, sacred honor, to the front of the armor at the waist 
any sacred relic on which oaths were for supporting the lance in a charge. 


80 


IVANHOE. 


is the mere wantonness of insult/^ said one of the old- 
est and most important of Prince JoWs followers, Walde- 
mar Fitzurse, ^^and if yonr Grace attempt it, cannot but 
prove ruinous to your projects/^ 

“I entertained you, sir,^^ said John, reining up his palfrey 
haughtily, ^^for my follower, but not for my counsellor/^ 
^‘Those who follow your Grace in the paths which you 
tread,^’ said Waldemar, but speaking in a low voice, ^^acquire 
the right of counsellors; for your interest and safety are not 
more deeply gaged than their own/^ 

From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw the 
necessity of acquiescence. did but jest,’^ he said; ^^and 
you turn upon me like so many adders! Name whom you 
will, in the fiend’s name, and please yourselves.” 

^^Nay, nay,” said De Bracy, ^det the fair sovereign’s throne 
remain unoccupied, until the conqueror shall be named, and 
then let him choose the lady by whom it shall be filled. It 
will add another grace to his triumph, and teach fair ladies 
to prize the love of valiant knights, who can exalt them to 
such distinction.” 

^Gf Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,” said the Prior, 
will gage my rosary^ that I name the Sovereign of Love and 
Beauty.” 

^‘Bois-Guilbert,” answered De Bracy, “is a good lance ; but 
there are others around these lists. Sir Prior, who will not 
fear to encounter him.” 

“Silence, sirs,” said Waldemar, “and let the Prince assume 
his seat. The Imights and spectators are alike impatient, the 
time advances, and highly fit it is that the sports should 
commence.” 

Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in Waldemar 
Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favourite minister, who, 
in serving his sovereign, must always do so in his own way. 
The Prince acquiesced, however, although his disposition was 
precisely of that kind which is apt to be obstinate upon trifles, 
and, assuming his throne, and being surrounded by his fol- 
lowers, gave signal to the heralds to proclaim the laws of the 
tournament, which were briefly as follows : 


* a string of beads used in devotions. The 
Prior says he will wager his rosary, etc. 


IVANHOE. 


81 


First, the five challengers were to undertake all comers. 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat, might, if he 
pleased, select a special antagonist from among the chal- 
lengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with the reverse 
of his lance, the trial of skill was made with what were called 
the arms of courtesy, that is, with lances at whose extremity 
a piece of round, flat board was fixed, so that no danger was 
encountered, save from the shock of the horses and riders. 
But if the shield was touched with the sharp end of the lance, 
the combat was understood to be at outrance, that is, the 
knights were to fight with sharp weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished their 
vow, by each of them breaking five lances, the Prince was to 
declare the victor in the first day^s tourney, who should re- 
ceive as prize a war-horse of exquisite beauty and matchless 
strength ; and in addition to this reward of valour, it was now 
declared, he should have the peculiar honour of naming the 
Queen of Love and Beauty, by whom the prize should be 
given on the ensuing day. 

Fourthly, it was announced, that, on the second day, there 
should be a general tournament, in which all the knights pres- 
ent, who were desirous to win praise, might take part; and 
being divided into two bands, of equal numbers, might fight 
it out manfully, until the signal was given by Prince John to 
cease the combat. The elected Queen of Love and Beauty 
was then to crown the knight whom the Prince should ad- 
judge to have borne himself best in this second day, with a 
coronet composed of thin gold plate, cut into the shape of a 
laurel crown. On this second day the knightly games ceased. 
But on that which was to follow, feats of archery, of bull- 
baiting, and other popular amusements, were to be practised 
for the more immediate amusement of the populace. In this 
manner did Prince John endeavour to lay the foundation of 
a popularity, which he was perpetually throwing down by 
some inconsiderate act of wanton aggression upon the feelings 
and prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The 
sloping galleries were crowded with all that was noble, great, 
wealthy, and beautiful, in the northern and midland parts of 
England; and the contrast of the various dresses of these 


82 


IVANHOE. 


dignified spectators rendered the view as gay as it was rich, 
while the interior and lower space, filled with the substantial 
burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their 
more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle 
of brilliant embroidery, relieving, and, at the same time, set- 
ting off its splendour. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their usual 
cry of “Largesse, largesse,^ gallant knights V’ and gold and 
silver pieces were showered on them from the galleries, it 
being a high point of chivalry to exhibit liberality towards 
those whom the age accounted at once the secretaries and 
the historians of honour. The bounty of the spectators was 
acknowledged by the customary shouts of “Love of Ladies — 
Death of Champions — Honour to the Generous — Glory to the 
Brave!” To which the more humble spectators added their 
acclamations, and a numerous band of trumpeters the flourish 
of their martial instruments. When these sounds had ceased, 
the heralds withdrew from the lists in gay and glittering pro- 
cession, and none remained within them save the marshals 
of the field, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motion- 
less as statues, at the opposite end of the lists. Meantime, 
the enclosed space at the northern extremity of the lists, large 
as it was, was now completely crowded with knights desirous 
to prove their skill against the challengers, and, when viewed 
from the galleries, presented the appearance of a sea of waving 
plumage, intermixed with glistening helmets, and tall lances, 
to the extremities of which were, in many cases, attached 
small pennons of about a spanks breadth, which, fluttering in 
the air as the breeze caught them, joined with the restless 
motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, chosen 
by lot, advanced slowly into the area; a single champion rid- 
ing in front, and the other four following in pairs. All were 
splendidly armed, and my Saxon authority (in the Wardour 
Manuscript) records at great length their devices, their 
colours, and the embroidery of their horse trappings. It is 
unnecessary to be particular on these subjects. To borrow 
lines from a contemporary poet,* who has written but too 
little — 

1 A generous gift. * Coleridge 


IVANHOE. 


83 


“ The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust.” 

« 

Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls of 
their castles. Their castles themselves are but green mounds 
and shattered ruins — the place that once knew them, knows 
them no more — nay, many a race since theirs has died out 
and been forgotten in the very land which they occupied, with 
all the authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords. 
What, then, would it avail the reader to know their names, 
or the evanescent symbols of their martial rank! 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which 
awaited their names and feats, the champions advanced 
through the lists, restraining their fiery steeds, and com- 
pelling them to move slowly, while, at the same time, they 
exhibited their paces, together with the grace and dexterity 
of the riders. As the procession entered the lists, the sound 
of a wild Barbaric music was heard from behind the tents 
of the challengers where the performers were concealed. It 
was of Eastern origin, having been brought from the Holy 
Land; and the mixture of the cymbals and bells seemed to 
bid welcome at once, and defiance, to the knights as they 
advanced. With the eyes of an immense concourse of spec- 
tators fixed upon them, the five knights advanced up the 
platform upon which the tents of the challengers stood, and 
there separating themselves, each touched slightly, and with 
the reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom 
he wished to oppose himself. The lower order of spectators 
in general — nay, many of the higher class, and it is even said 
several of the ladies, were rather disappointed at the cham- 
pions choosing the arms of courtesy. For the same sort of 
persons, who in the present day applaud most highly the 
deepest tragedies, were then interested in a tournament exactly 
in proportion to the danger incurred by the champions 
engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the champions 
retreated to the extremity of the lists, where they remained 
drawn up in a line ; while the challengers, sallying each from 
his pavilion, mounted their horses, and, headed by Brian de 


84 


IVANHOE. 


Bois-Guilbert, descended from the platform, and opposed 
themselves individually to the knights who had touched their 
respective shields. 

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started out 
against each other at full gallop ; and such was the superior 
dexterity or good fortune of the challengers, that those 
opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf, 
rolled on the ground. The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead 
of bearing his lance-point fair against the crest or the shield 
of his enemy, swerved so much from the direct line as to 
break the weapon athwart the person of his opponent — a 
circumstance which was accounted more disgraceful than that 
of being actually unhorsed; because the latter might happen 
from accident, whereas the former evinced awkwardness and 
want of management of the weapon and of the horse. The 
fifth knight alone maintained the honour of his party, and 
parted fairly with the Knight of St. John, both splintering 
their lances without advantage on either side.^ 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclamations 
of the heralds, and the clangour of the trumpets, announced 
the triumph of the victors and the defeat of the vanquished. 
The former retreated to their pavilions, and the latter, gath- 
ering themselves up as they could, withdrew from the lists in 
disgrace and dejection, to agree with their victors concern- 
ing the redemption of their arms and their horses, which, 
according to the laws of the tournament, they had forfeited. 
The fifth of their number alone tarried in the lists long 
enough to be greeted by the applauses of the spectators, 
amongst whom he retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless, 
of his companions^ mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field; and 
although they had various success, yet, upon the whole, the 
advantage decidedly remained with the challengers, not one 
of whom lost his seat or swerved from his charge — misfor- 
tunes which befell one or two of their antagonists in each 
encounter. The spirits, therefore, of those opposed to them 
seemed to be considerably damped by their continued suc- 
cess. Three knights only appeared on the fourth entry, who, 
avoiding the shields of Bois-Guilbert and Front-de-Boeuf, 

1 Their skill and adroitness in extricating themselves from difficult situations. 


IVANHOE. 


85 


contented themselves with touching those of the three other 
knights, who had not altogether manifested the same strength 
and dexterity. This politic selection did not alter the fortune 
of the field, the challengers were still successful; one of their 
antagonists was overthrown, and both the others failed in 
the attaint, that is, in striking the helmet and shield of their 
antagonist firmly and strongly, with the lance held in a 
direct line, so that the weapon might break unless the cham- 
pion was overthrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerable 
pause; nor did it appear that anyone was very desirous of 
renewing the contest. The spectators murmured among 
themselves ; for, among the challengers, Malvoisin and Front- 
de-Boeuf were unpopular from their characters, and the 
others, except Grantmesnil, were disliked as strangers and 
foreigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction so 
keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each advantage 
gained by the Norman challengers, a repeated triumph over 
the honour of England. His own education had taught him 
no skill in the games of chivalry, although, with the arms 
of his Saxon ancestors, he had manifested himself, on many 
occasions, a brave and determined soldier. He looked 
anxiously to Athelstane, who had learned the accomplish- 
ments of the age, as if desiring that he should make some 
personal effort to recover the victory which was passing into 
the hands of the Templar and his associates. But, though 
both stout of heart and strong of person, Athelstane had a 
disposition too inert and unambitious to make the exertions 
which Cedric seemed to expect from him. 

“The day is against England, my lord,” said Cedric in a 
marked tone; “are you not tempted to take the lance?” 

“I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “in the 
mUee; it is not worth while for me to arm myself to-day.” 

Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It contained 
the Norman word melee (to express the general conflict), and 
it evinced some indifference to the honour of the country ; but 
it was spoken by Athelstane, whom he held in such profound 
respect that he would not trust himself to canvass his motives 
or his foibles. Moreover, he had no time to make any remark. 


86 


IVANHOE. 


for Wamba thrust in his word, observing, ^^It was better, 
though scarce easier, to be the best man among a hundred, 
than the best man of two/’ 

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment; 
but Cedric, who better understood the Jester’s meaning, 
darted at him a severe and menacing look; and lucky it was 
for Wamba, perhaps, that the time and place prevented his 
receiving, notwithstanding his place and service, more sensi- 
ble marks of his master’s resentment. 

The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, ex- 
cepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming — ‘^Love of 
ladies, splintering of lances ! stand forth, gallant knights, 
fair eyes look upon your deeds !” 

The music also of the challengers breathed from time to 
time wild bursts expressive of triumph or defiance, while the 
clowns grudged a holiday which seemed to pass away in in- 
activity; and old knights and nobles lamented in whispers 
the decay of martial spirit, spoke of the triumphs of their 
younger days, but agreed that the land did not now supply 
dames of such transcendent beauty as had animated the jousts^ 
of former times. Prince J ohn began to talk to his attendants 
about making ready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudg- 
ing the prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a 
single spear, overthrown two knights, and foiled a third. 

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers con- 
cluded one of those long and high fiourishes with which they 
had broken the silence of the lists, it was answered by a 
solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of defiance from the 
northern extremity. All eyes were turned to see the new 
champion which these sounds announced, and no sooner were 
the barriers opened than he paced into the lists. As far as 
could be judged of a man sheathed in armour, the new ad- 
venturer did not greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed 
to be rather slender than strongly made. His suit of armour 
was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the device 
on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, 
with the Spanish word Desdichado, signifying Disinherited. 
He was mounted on a gallant black horse, and as he passed 
through the lists he gracefully saluted the Prince and the 
ladies by lowering his lance. The dexterity with which he 

* tilting matches between mounted knights. 


IVANHOE. 


87 


managed his steed, and something of the youthful grace which 
he displayed in his manner, won him the favour of the multi- 
tude, which some of the lower classes expressed by calling 
out, ^Touch Ealph de Viponfs shield — touch the Hospital- 
ler^s shield; he has the least sure seat, he is your cheapest 
bargain/^ 

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant 
hints, ascended the platform by the sloping alley which led 
to it from the lists, and, to the astonishment of all present, 
riding straight up to the central pavilion, struck with the 
sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert 
until it rung again. All stood astonished at his presumption, 
but none more than the redoubted knight whom he had thus 
defied to mortal combat, and who, little expecting so rude 
a challenge, was standing carelessly at the door of the 
pavilion. 

“Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the Templar, 
“and have you heard mass this morning, that you peril your 
life so frankly?” 

“I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” answered the 
Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger had re- 
corded himself in the books of the tourney. 

“Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
“and look your last upon the sun; for this night thou shalt 
sleep in paradise.” 

“Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disinherited 
Knight, “and to requite it, I advise thee to take a fresh horse 
and a new lance, for by my honour you will need both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his 
horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, and 
compelled him in the same manner to move backward through 
the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, where he 
remained stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. This 
feat of horsemanship again attracted the applause of the mul- 
titude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precautions 
which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not neglect 
his advice; for his honour was too nearly concerned, to per- 
mit his neglecting any means which might ensure victory over 
his presumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for a 


88 


IVANHOE. 


proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit. He chose 
a new and tough spear, lest the wood of the former might 
have been strained in the previous encounters he had sus- 
tained. Lastly, he laid aside his shield, which had received 
some little damage, and received another from his squires. 
His first had only borne the general device of his rider, repre- 
senting two knights riding upon one horse, an emblem ex- 
pressive of the original humility and poverty of the Tem- 
plars, qualities which they had since exchanged for the arro- 
gance and wealth that finally occasioned their suppression. 
Bois-Guilbert’s new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding 
in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto. Gave le Corheau. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other at 
the two extremities of the lists, the public expectation was 
strained to the highest pitch. Few augured the possibility 
that the encounter could terminate well for the Disinherited 
Knight, yet his courage and gallantry secured the general 
good wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the 
champions vanished from their posts with the speed of light- 
ning, and closed in the center of the lists with the shock 
of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers up to the 
very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that both knights 
had fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil back- 
wards upon its haunches. The address of the riders recovered 
their steeds by use of the bridle and spur ; and having glared 
on each other for an instant with eyes which seemed to flash 
fire through the bars of their visors,^ each made a demi-volte, 
and, retiring to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh 
lance from the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and 
handkerchiefs, and general acclamations attested the interest 
taken by the spectators in this encounter; the most equal, as 
well as the best performed, which had graced the day. But 
no sooner had the knights resumed their station, than the 
•clamour of applause was hushed into a silence, so deep and so 
dead that it seemed the multitude were afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the com- 
batants and their horses might recover breath. Prince John 

1 The visor, or movable front of the admit light and air to the wearer, 
helmet, was perforated and barred to 


IVANHOE. 


89 


with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound the onset. 
The champions a second time sprung from their stations, and 
closed in the centre of the lists, with the same speed, the same 
dexterity, the same violence, but not the same equal fortune 
as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the centre 
of his antagonist's shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly 
that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Kmight 
reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, 
in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance 
toward Bois-Guilberfs shield, but, changing his aim almost 
in the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a 
mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered 
the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Nor- 
man on the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the 
bars. Yet, even a^ this disadvantage, the Templar sustained 
his high reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle 
burst, he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, 
however, saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground under 
a cloud of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was 
to the Templar scarce the work of a moment ; and, stung with 
madness, both at his disgrace and at the acclamations with 
which it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and 
waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited 
Knight sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed his sword. 
The marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses be- 
tween them, and reminded them that the laws of the tourna- 
ment did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of 
encounter. 

^^We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar, casting 
a resentful glance at his antagonist; ‘‘and where there are 
none to separate us.” 

“If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “the fault 
shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, with spear, with 
axe, or with sword, I am alike ready to encounter thee.” 

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but 
the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, compelled 
them to separate. The Disinherited Knight returned to his 
first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained 
for the rest of the day in an agony of despair. 


90 


IVANHOE. 


Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for 
a howl of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of his 
helmet, announced that he quaffed it ^^To all true English 
hearts, and to the confusion of foreign tyrants.” He then 
commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to the chal- 
lengers, and desired a herald to announce to them that he 
should make no election, but was willing to encounter them 
in the order in which they pleased to advance against him. 

The gigantic Eront-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armour, was 
the first who took the field. He bore on a white shield a 
black bulks head, half defaced by the numerous encounters 
which he had undergone, and bearing the arrogant motto. 
Cave Adsum. Over this champion the Disinherited Knight 
obtained a slight but decisive advantage. Both knights broke 
their lances fairly, but Front-de-Boeuf, who lost a stirrup 
in the encounter, was adjudged to have the disadvantage. 

In the stranger^s third encounter, with Sir Philip Mal- 
voisin, he was equally successful, striking that baron so forci- 
bly on the casque that the laces of the helmet broke, and 
Malvoisin, only saved from falling by being unhelmeted, was 
declared vanquished like his companions. 

In his fourth , combat, with De Grantmesnil, the Disin- 
herited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had hitherto 
evinced courage and dexterity. De Grrantmesniks horse, 
which was young and violent, reared and plunged in the 
course of the career so as to disturb the ridePs aim, and the 
stranger, declining to take the advantage which this accident 
afforded him, raised his lance and passing his antagonist 
without touching him, wheeled his horse and rode back again 
to his own end of the lists, offering his antagonist, by a 
herald, the chance of a second encounter. This De Grant- 
mesnil declined, avowing himself vanquished as much by the 
courtesy as by the address of his opponent. 

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger’s tri- 
umphs, being hurled to the ground with such force that the 
blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and he was borne 
senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unanimous 
award of the Prince and marshals, announcing that day’s 
honours to the Disinherited Knight. 


IVANHOE. 


91 


CHAPTER IX 

THE MYSTERIOUS KNIGHT. SURMISES. THE PRIZE BESTOWED ON 
THE VICTOR. HE CROWNS ROWENA QUEEN OF HONOR AND LOVE. 
THE FIRST DAY OF THE TOURNAMENT ENDS. 

William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival, the marshals 
of the field, were the first to offer their congratulations to the 
victor, praying him, at the same time, to suffer his helmet 
to be unlaced, or, at least, that he would raise his visor ere 
they conducted him to receive the prize of the day’s tourney 
from the hands of Prince John. The Disinherited Knight, 
with all knightly courtesy, declined their request, alleging 
that he could not at this time suffer his face to be seen, for 
reasons which he had assigned to the heralds when he entered 
the lists. The marshals were perfectly satisfied by this reply ; 
for amidst the frequent and capricious vows by which knights 
were accustomed to bind themselves in the days of chivalry, 
there were none more common than those by which they 
engaged to remain incognito for a certain space, or until some 
particular adventure was achieved. The marshals, therefore, 
pressed no farther into the mystery of the Disinherited 
Knight, but, announcing to Prince John the conqueror’s de- 
sire to remain unknown, they requested permission to bring 
him before his Grace, in order that he might receive the 
reward of his valour. 

John’s curiosity was excited by the mystery observed by the 
stranger; and, being already displeased with the issue of 
the tournament, in which the challengers whom he favoured 
had been successively defeated by one knight, he answered 
haughtily to the marshals, ‘^By the light of Our Lady’s brow, 
this same knight hath been disinherited as well of his 
courtesy as of his lands, since he desires to appear before us 
without uncovering his face. — Wot^ ye, my lords,” he said, 
turning round to his train, ^Vho this gallant can be, that 
bears himself thus proudly?” 

cannot guess,” answered De Bracy, ‘^nor did I think 
there had been within the four seas that girth Britain a cham- 
pion that could bear down these five knights in one day’s 

1 know. 


92 


IVANHOE. 


jousting. By my faith, I shall never forget the force with 
which he shocked De Vipont. The poor Hospitaller^ was 
hurled from his saddle like a stone from a sling.’^ 

^^Boast not of that/^ said a Knight of St. John, who was 
present; ^^your Temple champion had no better luck. I saw 
your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice over, grasping his 
hands full of sand at every turn.'’^ 

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would have re- 
plied, but was prevented by Prince John. ^^Silence, sirs!” 
he said; ^Vhat unprofitable debate have we here?” 

^^The victor,” said De Wyvil, ‘^still waits the pleasure of 
your Highness.” 

‘Tt is our pleasure,” answered John, ‘That he do so wait 
until we learn whether there is not some one who can at least 
guess at his name and quality. Should he remain there till 
nightfall, he has had enough work to keep him warm.” 

“Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “will do less than 
due honour to the victor, if you compel him to wait till we tell 
your Highness that which we cannot know; at least I can 
form no guess — unless he be one of the good lances who 
accompanied King Eichard to Palestine, and who are now 
straggling homeward from the Holy Land.” 

“It may be the Earl of Salisbury,” said De Bracy; “he is 
about the same pitch.”^ 

“Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland, rather,” 
said Fitzurse; “Salisbury is bigger in the bones.” A whisper 
arose among the train, but by whom first suggested could not 
be ascertained. “It might be the King — it might be Eichard 
Coeur-de-Lion himself !” 

“Over God’s forbode!”^ said Prince John, involuntarily 
turning at the same time as pale as death, and shrinking as 
if blighted by a fiash of lightning; “Waldemar! — De Bracy! 
brave knights and gentlemen, remember your promises, and 
stand truly by me !” 

“Here is no danger impending,” said Waldemar Fitzurse; 
“are you so little acquainted with the gigantic limbs of your 
father’s son as to think they can be held within the circum- 

* The Knights Templars and Knights were called Preceptories; of the latter. 
Hospitallers were military religious or- Commanderies. 
ders. The establishments of the former * height, stature. * Forbid. 


IVANHOE. 


93 


ference of yonder suit of armour? — De Wyvil and Martival, 
you will best serve the Prince by bringing forward the victor 
to the throne, and ending an error that has conjured all the 
blood from his cheeks. — ^Look at him more closely/’ he con- 
tinued; “your Highness will see that he wants three inches 
of King Eichard’s height and twice as much of his shoulder- 
breadth. The very horse he backs could not have carried the 
ponderous weight of King Eichard through a single course.” 

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought forward 
the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a wooden flight of 
steps, which formed the ascent from the lists to Prince John’s 
throne. Still discomposed with the idea that his brother, so 
much injured, and to whom he was so much indebted, had 
suddenly arrived in his native kingdom, even the distinctions 
pointed out by Pitzurse did not altogether remove the Prince’s 
apprehensions ; and while, with a short and embarrassed 
eulogy upon his valour, he caused to be delivered to him the 
war-horse assigned as the prize, he trembled lest from the 
barred visor of the mailed form before him an answer might 
be returned, in the deep and awful accents of Eichard the 
Lion-hearted. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in reply to 
the compliment of the Prince, which he only, acknowledged 
with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly 
dressed, the animal itself being fully accoutered with the 
richest war-furniture;^ which, however, scarcely added to the 
value of the noble creature in the eyes of those who were 
judges. Laying one hand upon the pommel of the saddle, 
the Disinherited Knight vaulted at once upon the back of 
the steed without making use of the stirrup, and brandishing 
aloft his lance, rode twice around the lists, exhibiting the 
points and paces of the horse with the skill of a perfect 
horseman. 

The appearance of vanity, which might otherwise have been 
attributed to this display, was removed by the propriety 
shown in exhibiting to the best advantage the princely reward 
with which he had been just honoured, and the Knight was 
again greeted by the acclamations of all present. 

1 trappings and warlike appendages. 


94 


IVANHOE. 


In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jc/^rvaulx had 
reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor must 
now display his good judgment, instead of his vahiur, by select- 
ing from among the beauties who graced the galleries a lady 
who should fill the throne of the Queen of Beauty and of 
Love, and deliver the prize of the tourney upon the ensuing 
day. The Prince accordingly made a sign with his truncheon, 
as the Knight passed him in his second career round the lists. 
The Knight turned towards the throne, and, sinking his lance, 
until the point was within a foot of the ground, remained 
motionless, as if expecting John’s command; while all admired 
the sudden dexterity with which he instantly reduced his 
fiery steed from a state of violent emotion and high excitation 
to the stillness of an equestrian statue. 

^^Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, ^^since that 
is the only title by which we can address you, if is now your 
duty, as well as privilege, to name the fair lady, who, as 
Queen of Honour and of Love, is to preside over next day’s 
festival. If, as a stranger in our land, you should require the 
aid of other judgment to guide your own, we can only say 
that Alicia, the daughter of our gallant knight Waldemar 
Pitzurse, has at our court been long held the first in beauty 
as in place. Nevertheless, it is your undoubted prerogative 
to confer on whom you please this crown, by the delivery of 
which to the lady of your choice, the election of to-morrow’s 
Queen will be formal and complete. — Raise your lance !” 

The Knight obeyed ; and Prince J ohn placed upon its point 
a coronet of green satin, having around its edge a circle of 
gold, the upper edge of which was relieved by arrow-points 
and hearts placed interchangeably, like the strawberry leaves 
and balls upon a ducal crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the daugh- 
ter of Waldemar Pitzurse, John had more than one motive, 
each the offspring of a mind which was a strange mixture of 
carelessness and presumption with low artifice and cunning. 
He wished to banish from the minds of the chivalry around 
him his own indecent and unacceptable jest respecting the 
Jewess Rebecca; he was desirous of conciliating Alicia’s 
father, Waldemar, of whom he stood in awe, and who had 
more than once shown himself dissatisfied during the course 


IVANHOE. 


95 


of the day’s proceedings. He had also a wish to establish 
himself in the good graces of the lady; for John was at 
least as licentious in his pleasures as profligate in his ambi- 
tion. But besides air these reasons he was desirous to raise 
up against the Disinherited Knight (towards whom he already 
entertained a strong dislike) a powerful enemy in the person 
of Waldemar Fitzurse, who was likely, he thought, highly to 
resent the injury done to his daughter, in case, as was not 
unlikely, the victor should make another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight 
passed the gallery close to that of the Prince, in which the 
Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride of triumphant beauty, 
and, pacing forwards as slowly as he had hitherto rode swift- 
ly around the lists, he seemed to exercise his right of examin- 
ing the numerous fair faces which adorned that splendid 
circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the beau- 
ties who underwent this examination, during the time it was 
proceeding. Some blushed, some assumed an air of pride 
and dignity, some looked straight forward, and essayed to 
seem utterly unconscious of what was going on, some drew 
back in alarm, which was perhaps affected, some endeavoured 
to forbear smiling, and there were two or three who laughed 
outright. There were also some who dropped their veils 
over their charms; but as the Wardour Manuscript says these 
were fair ones of ten years’ standing, it may be supposed that, 
having had their full share of such vanities, they were will- 
ing to withdraw their claim, in order to give a fair chance 
to the rising beauties of the age. 

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony in 
which the Lady Eowena was placed, and the expectation of 
the spectators was excited to the utmost. 

It must be owned, that if an interest displayed in his suc- 
cess could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the part of 
the list before which he paused had merited his predilection. 
Cedric the Saxon, overjoyed at the discomfiture of the Tem- 
plar, and still more so at the miscarriage of his two malevo- 
lent neighbours, Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, had, with his 
body half stretched over the balcony, accompanied the victor 
in each course, not with his eyes only, but with his whole 


96 


IVANHOE. 


heart and soul. The Lady Eowena had watched the progress 
of the day with equal attention, though without openly be- 
traying the same intense interest. Even the unmoved Athel- 
stane had shown symptoms of shaking off his apathy, when, 
calling for a huge goblet of muscadine,^ he quafed it to the 
health of the Disinherited Knight. 

Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied by the 
Saxons, had shown no less interest in the fate of the day. 

‘^Father Abraham said Isaac of York, when the first 
course was run betwixt the Templar and the Disinherited 
Knight, ^‘^How fiercely that Gentile rides ! Ah, the good horse 
that was brought all the long way from Barbary, he takes no 
more care of him than if he were a wild ass’s colt — and the 
noble armour, that was worth so many zecchins^ to Joseph 
Pareira, the armourer of Milan, besides seventy in the hundred 
of profits, he cares for it as little as if he had found it in 
the highways!” 

^Tf he risks his own person and limbs, father,” said Ee- 
becca, ^‘in doing such a dreadful battle, he can scarce be 
expected to spare his horse and armour.” 

‘^Child I” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, ^Thou knowest 
not what thou speakest. — His neck and limbs are his own, but 
his horse and armour belong to — Holy Jacob ! what was I 
about to say! — Nevertheless, it is a good youth. — See, Ee- 
becca! see, he is again about to go up to battle against the 
Philistine.^ — Pray, child — pray for the safety of the good 
youth, — and of the speedy horse, and the rich armour. — God 
of my fathers !” he again exclaimed, ^^he hath conquered, and 
the uncircumcised Philistine hath fallen before his lance,— 
even as Og^ the King of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the 
Amorites, fell before the sword of our fathers ! — Surely he 
shall take their gold and their silver, and their war-horses, 
and their armour of brass and of steel, for a prey and for a 
spoil.” 


* wine made from Muscat grapes. 

2 or sequin, an Italian gold coin worth 
about $2.25. 

* In ancient times the Philistines were 
a warlike people, occupying a territory 
on the coast plain bordering the Med- 
iterranean southwest of Palestine. The 
Hebrews and the Philistines were fre- 
quently brought into contact and con- 


flict. 

* the king of gigantic stature who 
opposed the passage of the Hebrews 
(Israelites) through his territory on 
their approach to Canaan. Bashan 
was east of the Jordan and south of 
Mount Hermon. Og’s iron bedstead, 13 
feet long, was preserved as a curiosity. 
Deuteronomy III. 3, 11. 


IVANHOE. 


97 


The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during every 
course that was run, seldom failing to hazard a hasty calcula- 
tion concerning the value of the horse and armour which were 
forfeited to the champion upon each new success. There had 
been therefore no small interest taken in the success of the 
Disinherited Knight, by those who occupied the part of the 
lists before which he now paused. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesita- 
tion the champion of the day remained stationary for more 
than a minute, while the eyes of the silent audience were 
riveted upon his motions ; and then, gradually and gracefully 
sinking the point of his lance, he deposited the coronet which 
it supported at the feet of the fair Eowena. The trumpets 
instantly sounded, while the heralds proclaimed the Lady 
Eowena the Queen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing 
day, menacing with suitable penalties those who should be 
disobedient to her authority. They then repeated their cry 
of ^‘Largesse”, to which Cedric, in the height of his joy, re- 
plied by an ample donative, and to which Athelstane, though 
less promptly, added one equally large. 

There was some murmuring among the damsels of Korman 
descent, who were as much unused to see the preference 
given to a Saxon beauty as the Korman nobles were to sustain 
defeat in the games of chivalry which they themselves had 
introduced. But these sounds of disaffection were drowned 
by the popular shout of “Long live the Lady Eowena, the 
chosen and lawful Queen of Love and of Beauty !” To which 
many in the lower area added, “Long live the Saxon Princess 1 
long live the race of the immortal Alfred 

However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince 
John, and to those around him, he saw himself nevertheless 
obliged to confirm the nomination of the victor, and accord- 
ingly calling to horse, he left his throne; and mounting his 
jennet, accompanied by his train, he again entered the lists. 
The Prince paused a moment beneath the gallery of Lady 
Alicia, to whom he paid his compliments, observing, at the 
same time, to those around him — “By my halidom, sirs! if 
the KnighPs feats in arms have shown that he hath limbs and 
sinews, his choice hath no less proved that his eyes are none 
of the clearest.^^ 


98 


IVANHOE. 


It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, John’s 
misfortune, not perfectly to understand the characters of those 
whom he wished to conciliate. Waldemar Fitzurse was rather 
offended than pleased at the Prince stating thus broadly an 
opinion that his daughter had been slighted. 

know no right of chivalry,” he said, ‘^more precious or 
inalienable than that of each free knight to choose his lady- 
love by his own judgment. My daughter courts distinction 
from no one; and in her own character, and in her own 
sphere, will never fail to receive the full proportion of that 
which is her due.” 

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, as if to 
give vent to his vexation, he made the animal bound forward 
to the gallery where Eowena was seated, with the crown still 
at her feet. 

‘^Assume,” he said, ^^fair lady, the mark of your sovereignty, 
to which none vows homage more sincerely than ourself, John 
of Anjou; and if it please you to-day, with your noble sire 
and friends, to grace our banquet in the Castle of Ashby, we 
shall learn to know the empress to whose service we devote 
to-morrow.” 

Eowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her in 
his native Saxon. 

‘^The Lady Eowena,” he said, ‘^possesses not the language 
in which to reply to your courtesy, or to sustain her part in 
your festival. I also, and the noble Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh, speak only the language, and practise only the man- 
ners, of our fathers. We therefore decline with thanks your 
Highness’s courteous invitation to the banquet. To-morrow, 
the Lady Eowena will take upon her the state to which she 
has been called by the free election of the victor Knight, con- 
firmed by the acclamations of the people.” 

So saying, he lifted the coronet, and placed it upon Eowe- 
na’s head, in token of her acceptance of the temporary 
authority assigned to her. 

^^What says he?” said Prince John, affecting not to under- 
stand the Saxon language, in which, however, he was well 
skilled. The purport of Cedric’s speech was repeated to him 
in French. ^Tt is well,” he said ; ^To-morrow we will ourself 
conduct this mute sovereign to her seat of dignity. You, at 


IVANHOE. 


99 


least, Sir Knight/^ he added, turning to the victor, who had 
remained near the gallery, ‘ Vill this day share our banquet 

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and hur-^ 
ried voice, excused himself by pleading fatigue, and the neces- 
sity of preparing for to-morrow’s encounter. 

^Tt is well,” said Prince John, haughtily; ^^although un- 
used to such refusals, we will endeavor to digest our banquet, 
as we may, though ungraced by the most successful in arms,, 
and his elected Queen of Beauty.” 

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his glitter- 
ing train, and his turning his steed for that purpose was the 
signal for the breaking up and dispersion of the spectators. 

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended pride,, 
especially when combined with conscious want of desert, John 
had hardly proceeded three paces, ere again, turning around, 
he fixed an eye of stern resentment upon the yeoman’- who had 
displeased him in the early part of the day, and issued his 
commands to the men-at-arms who stood near. — ^^On your 
life, suffer not that fellow to escape.” 

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince with the 
same unvaried steadiness which had marked his former de- 
portment, saying, with a smile, have no intention to leave 
Ashby until the day after to-morrow. — I must see how Staf- 
fordshire and Leicestershire can draw their bows — the forests 
of Needwood and Charnwood must rear good archers.” 

^T,” said Prince John to his attendants, but not in direct 
reply, will see how he can draw his own; and woe betide 
him unless his skill should prove some apology for his inso- 
lence !” 

‘Tt is full time,” said De Bracy, ^That the outrecuidance^ 
of these peasants should be restrained by some striking ex- 
ample.” 

Waldemar Pitzurse, who probably thought his patron was 
not taking the readiest road to popularity, shrugged up his 
shoulders and was silent. Prince John resumed his retreat 
from the lists, and the dispersion of the multitude became 
general. 

In various routes, according to the different quarters from 


^ This yeoman is previously men- 
tioned on pages 71 and 77. 


* presumptio^n^ insolence. 


100 


IVANHOE. 


which they came, and in groups of various numbers, the 
spectators were seen retiring over the plain. By far the most 
numerous part streamed towards the town of Ashby, where 
many of the distinguished persons were lodged in the castle, 
and where others found accommodation in the town itself. 
Among these were most of the knights who had already ap- 
peared in the tournament, or who proposed to fight there the 
ensuing day, and who, as they rode slowly along, talking over 
the events of the day, were greeted with loud shouts by the 
populace. The same acclamations were bestowed upon Prince 
John, although he was indebted for them rather to the splen- 
dour of his appearance and train than to the popularity of his 
character. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better- 
merited acclamation, attended the victor of the day, until, 
anxious to withdraw himself from popular notice, he accepted 
the accommodation of one of those pavilions pitched at the 
extremities of the lists, the use of which was courteously ten- 
dered him by the marshals of the field. On his retiring to 
his tent, many who had lingered in the lists, to look upon 
and form conjectures concerning him, also dispersed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of men 
lately crowded together in one place, and agitated by the same 
passing events, were now exchanged for the distant hum of 
voices of different groups retreating in all directions, and 
these speedily died away in silence. No other sounds were 
heard save the voices of the menials who stripped the gal- 
leries of their cushions and tapestry, in order to put them in 
safety for the night, and wrangled among themselves for the 
half-used bottles of wine and relics of the refreshment which 
had been served round to the spectators. 

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge was 
erected; and these now began to glimmer through the twi- 
light, announcing the toil of the armourers, which was to con- 
tinue through the whole night, in order to repair or alter the 
suits of armour to be used again on the morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, from 
two hours to two hours, surrounded the lists, and kept watch 
during the night. 


IVANHOE. 


101 


CHAPTER X 

THE RANSOM OF THE HORSES OF THE FIVE DEFEATED KNIGHTS. THE 
COURTESY AND GENEROSITY SHOWN. MESSAGE TO BRIAN DE 
BOIS-GUILBERT. GURTH SENT TO ISAAC AT ASHBY. SUCCESS OF 
HIS MISSION. 

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his pa- 
vilion than sqnires and pages in abundance tendered their 
services to disarm him, to bring fresh attire, and to offer 
him the refreshment of the bath. Their zeal, on this occa- 
sion, jvas perhaps sharpened by curiosity, since every one 
desired to know who the knight was that had gained so many 
laurels, yet had refused, even at the command of Prince John, 
to lift his visor or to name his name. But their officious 
inquisitiveness was not gratified. The Disinherited Knight 
refused all other assistance save that of his own squire, or 
rather yeoman — a clownish-looking man, who, wrapped in a 
cloak of dark-coloured felt, and having his head and face half- 
buried in a Norman bonnet made of black fur, seemed to 
affect the incognito^ as much as his master. All others being 
excluded from the tent, this attendant relieved his master 
from the more burdensome parts of his armour, and placed 
food and wine before him, which the exertions of the day 
rendered very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal, ere his 
menial announced to him that five men, each leading a barbed^ 
steed, desired to speak with him. The Disinherited Knight 
had exchanged his armour for the long robe usually worn by 
those of his condition, which, being furnished with a hood, 
concealed the features, when such was the pleasure of the 
wearer, almost as completely as the visor of the helmet itself ; 
but the twilight, which was now fast darkening, would of 
itself have rendered a disguise unnecessary, unless to persons 
to whom the face of an individual chanced to be particularly 
well known. 

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly forth to 

> To assume a disguise in order to * decked in the gay trappings worn on 
conceal his personality. “Incognito,” horses at medieval tournaments. 

Latin, means not known. 


102 


IVANHOE. 


the front of his tent, and found in attendance the squires of 
the challengers, whom he easily knew by their russet and 
black dresses, each of whom led his master’s charger, loaded 
with the armour in which he had that day fought. 

Accor ding to the laws of chivalry,” said the foremost of 
these men, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the redoubted 
Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make offer to you, styling 
yourself, for the present, the Disinherited Knight, of the 
horse and armour used by the said Brian de Bois-Guilbert in 
this day’s Passage of Arms, leaving it with your nobleness 
toTetain or to ransom the same, according to your pleasure; 
for such is the law of arms.” 

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula, and 
then stood to await the decision of the Disinherited Knight. 

^^To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing those 
who had last spoken, ^‘^and to your honourable and valiant 
masters, I have one common reply. Commend me to the 
noble knights, your masters, and say I should do ill to deprive 
them of steeds and arms which can never be used by braver 
cavaliers. — I would I could here end my message to these 
gallant knights; but being, as I term myself, in truth and 
earnest, the Disinherited, I must be thus far bound to your 
masters, that they will, of their courtesy, be pleased to ran- 
som their steeds and armour, since that which I wear I can 
hardly term my own.” 

'^We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered the squire 
of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, “to offer a hundred zecchins in 
ransom of these horses and suits of armour.” 

“It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight. “Half the 
sum my present necessities compel me to accept; of the re- 
maining half, distribute one moiety among yourselves, sir 
squires, and divide the other half betwixt the heralds and the 
pursuivants, and minstrels, and attendants.” 

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, expressed 
their deep sense of a courtesy and generosity not often prac- 
tised, at least upon a scale so extensive. The Disinherited 
Knight then addressed his discourse to Baldwin, the squire 
of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. “From your master,” said he, “I 
will accept neither arms nor ransom. Say to him in my 
name, that our strife is not ended — no, not till we have 


IVANHOE. 


103 


fought as well with swords as with lances — as well on foot 
as on horseback. To this mortal quarrel he has himself defied 
me, and I shall not forget the challenge. — ileantime, let him 
be assured that I hold him not as one of his companions, with 
whom I can with pleasure exchange courtesies; but rather 
as one with whom I stand upon terms of mortal defiance.” 

master,” answered Baldwin, “knows how to requite 
scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well as courtesy 
with courtesy. Since you disdain to accept from him any 
share of the ransom at which you have rated the arms of the 
other knights, I must leave his armour and his horse here, 
being well assured that he will never deign to mount the one 
nor wear the other.” 

“You have spoken well, good Squire,” said the Disinherited 
Knight, “well and boldly, as it beseemeth him to speak who 
answers for an absent master. Leave not, however, the horse 
and armour here. Restore them to thy master; or, if he 
scorns to accept them, retain them, good friend, for thine 
own use. So far as they are mine, I bestow them upon you 
freely.” 

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his com- 
panions; and the Disinherited Knight entered the pavilion. 

“Thus far, Gurth,”^ said he, addressing his attendant, “the 
reputation of English chivalry hath not suffered in my hands.” 

“And I,” said Gurth, “for a Saxon swineherd, have not ill 
played the personage of a Korman squire-at-arms.” 

“Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight, “thou hast 
ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownish bearing should dis- 
cover thee.” 

- “Tush!” said Gurth, “I fear discovery from none, saving 
my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom I could never dis- 
cover whether he were most knave or fool. Yet I could scarce 
choose but laugh, when my old master passed so near to me, 
dreaming all the while that Gurth was keeping his porkers 
many a mile off, in the thickets and swamps of Rotherwood. 
If I am discovered — ” 

“Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “thou knowest 
my promise.” 

* Has there been anything in the pre- Palmer’s squire? You can now under- 
vious narrative to lead the reader to stand the Palmer’s “electrifying whis- 
think that Gurth was serving as the per’’ to Gurth (P. 59). 


104 


IVANHOE. 


for that matter/^ said Gurth, ‘^1 will never fail my 
friend for fear of my skin-cutting. 1 have a tough hide, that 
will bear knife or scourge as well as any boar’s hide in my 
herd.” 

'Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my love, 
Gurth,” said the Knight. "Meanwhile, I pray you to accept 
these ten pieces of gold.” 

"I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his pouch, 
"than ever was swineherd or bondsman.” 

"Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his master, 
"and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let him pay himself 
for the horse and arms with which his credit supplied me.” 

"Kay, by St. Dunstan,” replied Gurth, "that I will not do.” 

"How, knave,” replied his master, "wilt thou not obey my 
commands ?” 

"So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian commands,” 
replied Gurth; "but this is none of these. To suffer the Jew 
to pay himself would be dishonest, for it would be cheating 
my master ; and unreasonable, for it were the part of a fool ; 
and unchristian, since it would be plundering a believer to 
enrich an infidel.” 

"See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,”^ said 
the Disinherited Knight. 

"I will do so,” said Gurth, taking the bag under his cloak 
and leaving the apartment; "and it will go hard,” he mut- 
tered, "but I content him with one-half of his own asking.” 
So saying, he departed, and left the Disinherited Knight to 
his own perplexed ruminations; which, upon more accounts 
than it is now possible to communicate to the reader, were 
of a nature peculiarly agitating and painful. 

We must now change the scene to the village of Ashby, or 
rather to a country house in its vicinity belonging to a 
wealthy Israelite, with whom Isaac, his daughter, and retinue 
had taken up their quarters; the Jews, it is well known, being 
as liberal in exercising the duties of hospitality and charity 
among their own people, as they were alleged to be reluctant 
and churlish in extending them to those whom they termed 
Gentiles, and whose treatment of them certainly merited little 
hospitality at their hand. 

* fellow. The word also meant an attendant on a knight. 


IVANHOE. 


105 


In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished with 
decorations of an Oriental taste, Eebecca was seated on a heap 
of embroidered cushions, which, piled along a low platform 
that surrounded the chamber, served, like the estrada^ of the 
Spaniards, instead of chairs and stools. She was watching the 
motions of her father with a look of anxious and filial affec- 
tion, while he paced the apartment with a dejected mien and 
disordered step; sometimes clasping his hands together — 
sometimes casting his eyes to the roof of the apartment, as 
one who laboured under great mental tribulation. ^^0 J acob 
he exclaimed — ^^0 all ye twelve Holy Fathers of our tribe! 
what a losing venture is this for one who hath duly kept every 
jot and tittle of the law of Moses. — Fifty zecchins wrenched 
from me at one clutch, and by the talons of a tyrant 

“But, father,^^ said Eebecca, “you seemed to give the gold 
to Prince John willingly. 

“Willingly ? The blotch^ of Egypt upon him ! — Willingly, 
saidst thou ? — Ay, as willingly as when, in the Gulf of Lyons, 
I flung over my merchandise to lighten the ship, while she 
laboured in the tempest — robed the seething billows in my 
choice silks — perfumed their briny foam with myrrh and 
aloes — enriched their caverns with gold and silver work 1 And 
was not that an hour of unutterable misery, though my own 
hand made the sacrifice?” 

“But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save our 
lives,” answered Eebecca, “and the God of our fathers has 
since blessed your store and your gettings.” 

“Ay,” answered Isaac, “but if the tyrant lays hold on them 
as he did to-day, and compels me to smile while he is robbing 
me? — 0 daughter, disinherited and wandering as we are, the 
worst evil which befalls our race is, that when we are wronged 
and plundered, all the world laughs around, and we are com- 
pelled to suppress our sense of injury, and to smile tamely, 
when we would revenge bravely.” 

“Think not thus of it, my father,” said Eebecca; “we also 
have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and oppressive as they 
are, are in some sort dependent on the dispersed children of 


* a portion of the floor of a room some- plagues that came upon the Egyptians, 
what higher than the rest of the floor. Exodus ix: 9. 

* Probably referring to one of the 


106 


IVANHOE. 


Zion/ whom they despise and persecute. Without the aid of 
our wealth, they could neither furnish their hosts in war, 
nor their triumphs in peace; and the gold which we lend 
them returns with increase to our coffers. We are like the 
herb which flourisheth most when it is most trampled on. 
Even this day^s pageant had not proceeded without the con- 
sent of the despised Jew, who furnished the means.'’^ 

^‘Daughter,^’ said Isaac, ^^thou hast harped upon another 
string of sorrow. The goodly steed and the rich armour, 
equal to the full profit of my adventure with our Kirjath 
Jairam of Leicester — there is a dead loss to — ay, a loss which 
swallows up the gains of a week; ay, of the space between 
two Sabbaths — and yet it may end better than I now think,, 
for Tis a good youth.” 

‘^Assuredly,” said Eebecca, ^^you shall not repent you of 
requiting the good deed received of the stranger knight.” 

‘T trust so, daughter,” said Isaac, ^^and I trust, too, in the 
rebuilding of Zion ; but as well do I hope with my own bodily 
eyes to see the walls and battlements of the new Temple, as to 
see a Christian, yea, the very best of Christians, repay a debt 
to a Jew, unless under the awe of the judge and jailor.” 

So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through the 
apartment ; and Eebecca, perceiving that her attempts at con- 
solation only served to awaken new subjects of complaint, 
wisely desisted from her unavailing efforts — a prudential line 
of conduct, and we recommend to all who set up for comfort- 
ers and advisers, to follow it in the like circumstances. 

The evening was now becoming dark, when a Jewish serv- 
ant entered the apartment, and placed upon the table two 
silver lamps, fed with perfumed oil; the richest wines, and 
the most delicate refreshments, were at the same time dis- 
played by another Israelitish domestic on a small ebony table, 
inlaid with silver; for, in the interior of their houses, the 
Jews refused themselves no expensive indulgences. At the 
same time the servant informed Isaac that a Nazarene (so 
they termed Christians, while conversing among themselves) 
desired to speak with him. He that would live by traffic, must 
hold himself at the disposal of every one claiming business 

* Mount Zion was a hill in Jerusalem, city and the nation of the Jews, 
often spoken of as representing the entire 


IVANHOE. 


lor 

with him. Isaac at once replaced on the table the untasted 
glass of Greek wine which he had just raised to his lips, and 
saying hastily to his daughter, ^‘Rebecca, veil thyself,^’ com- 
manded the stranger to be admitted. 

Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine features a screen 
of silver gauze which reached to her feet, the door opened, and 
Gurth entered, wrapped in the ample folds of his ISTorman 
mantle. His appearance was rather suspicious than prepos- 
sessing, especially as, instead of doffing his bonnet, he pulled 
it still deeper over his rugged brow. 

“Art thou Isaac the Jew of York?” said Gurth, in Saxon. 

“I am,” replied Isaac, in the same language (for his traffic 
had rendered every tongue spoken in Britain familiar to him) 

* — “and who art thou?” 

“That is not to the purpose,” answered Gurth. 

“As much as my name is to thee,” replied Isaac ; “for with- 
out knowing thine, how can I hold intercourse with thee?” 

“Easily,” answered Gurth; “I, being to pay money, must 
know that I deliver it to the right person; thou, who are to 
receive it, will not, I think, care very greatly by whose hands 
it is delivered.” 

“0,” said the Jew, “you are come to pay moneys? Holy 
Rather Abraham! that altereth our relation to each other. 
And from whom dost thou bring it?” 

“From the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth, “victor in 
this day^s tournament. It is the price of the armour supplied 
to him by Kirjath Jairam of Leicester, on thy recommenda- 
tion. The steed is restored to thy stable. I desire to know 
the amount of the sum which I am to pay for the armour.” 

“I said he was a good youth !” exclaimed Isaac, with joyful 
exultation. “A cup of wine will do thee no harm,” he added, 
filling and handing to the swineherd a richer draught than 
Gurth had ever before tasted. “And how much money,” con- 
tinued Isaac, “hast thou brought with thee?” 

“Holy Virgin!” said Gurth, setting down the cup, “what 
nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while true Christians are 
fain to quaff ale as muddy and thick as the draff we give to 
liogs! — What money have I brought with me?” continued the 
Saxon, when he had finished this uncivil ejaculation, “even 
but a small sum; something in hand the whilst. What, 


108 


IVANHOE. 


Isaac! thou must bear a conscience, though it be a Jewish 
one/^ 

^‘Nay, but/^ said Isaac, “thy master has won goodly steeds 
and rich armours with the strength of his lance, and of his 
right hand — but ^tis a good youth — the Jew will take these 
in present payment, and render him back the surplus.” 

“My master has disposed of them already,” said Gurth. 

“Ah 1 that was wrong,” said the J ew, “that was the part of 
a fool. No Christian here could buy so many horses and 
armour — no Jew except myself would give him half the values. 
But thou hast a hundred zecchins with thee in that bag,” said 
Isaac, prying under Gurth’s cloak; “it is a heavy one.” 

“I have heads for cross-bow bolts in it,” said Gurth, readily. 

“Well, then,” said Isaac, panting and hesitating between 
habitual love of gain and a new-born desire to be liberal in the 
present instance, “if I should say that I would take eighty 
zecchins for the good steed and the rich armour, which leaves 
me not a guilder's profit, have you money to pay me?” 

“Barely,” said Gurth, though the sum demanded was more 
reasonable than he expected, “and it will leave my master 
nigh penniless. Nevertheless, if such be your least offer, I 
must be content.” 

“Fill thyself another goblet of wine,” said the Jew. “Ahl 
eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth no profit for the 
usages of the moneys; and, besides, the good horse may have 
suffered wrong in this day’s encounter. 0, it was a hard and 
a dangerous meeting! man and steed rushing on each other 
like wild bulls of Bashan!^ The horse cannot but have had 
wrong.” 

“And I say,” replied Gurth, “he is sound, wind and limb; 
and you may see him now, in your stable. And I say, over 
and above, that seventy zecchins is enough for the armour, 
and I hope a Christian’s word is as good as a Jew’s. If you 
will not take seventy, I will carry this bag” (and he shook 
it till the contents jingled) ^fi)ack to my master.” 

“Nay, nay!” said Isaac; “lay down the talents — the shek- 
els — the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt see I will consider 
thee liberally.” 

Gurth at length complied; and telling out eighty zecchins 


* Psalms xxii : 12. 


IVANHOE. 


109 


upon the table, the Jew delivered out to him an acquittance^ 
for the horse and suit of armour. The Jew’s hand trembled 
for joy as he wrapped up the first seventy pieces of gold. 
The last ten he told over with much deliberation, pausing, 
and saying something as he took each piece from the table, 
and dropt it into his purse. It seemed as if his avarice 
were struggling with his better nature, and compelling him 
to pouch zecchin after zecchin, while his generosity urged him 
to restore some part at least to his benefactor, or as a dona- 
tion to his agent. His whole speech ran nearly thus : 

‘^Seventy-one — seventy-two; thy master is a good youth — 
seventy-three, an excellent youth — seventy-four — that piece 
hath been dipt within the ring^ — seventy-five — and that look- 
eth light of weight — seventy-six — when thy master wants 
money, let him come to Isaac of York — seventy-seven — that 
is, with reasonable security.” Here he made a considerable 
pause, and Gurth had good hope that the last three pieces 
might escape the fate of their comrades; but the enumera- 
tion proceeded. — “Seventy-eight — thou are a good fellow — 
seventy-nine — and deservest something for thyself — ” 

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last zecchin, 
intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth. He weighed it 
upon the tip of his finger, and made it ring by dropping it 
upon the table. Had it rung too flat, or had it felt a hair’s 
breadth too light, generosity had carried the day; but, un- 
happily for Gurth, the chime was full and true, the zecchin 
plump, newly coined, and a grain above weight. Isaac could 
not find in his heart to part with it, so dropt it into his 
purse as if in absence of mind, with the words, “Eighty com- 
pletes the tale, and I trust thy master will reward thee hand- 
somely. — Surely,” he added, looking earnestly at the bag, 
“thou hast more coins in that pouch?” 

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach to a laugh, 
as he replied, “About the same quantity which thou hast just 
told over so carefully.” He then folded the quittance, and 
put it under his cap, adding — “Peril of thy beard, Jew, see 
that this be full and ample !” He filled himself, unbidden, a 

acknowledgment of receipt. the present practice of milling the edges 

2 cut within the circle of the coin. of coins. 

Coin-clipping is made more difficult by 


110 


IVANHOE. 


third goblet of wine, and left the apartment without cere- 
mony. 

^^Rebecca,” said the Jew, ^^that Ishmaelite hath gone some- 
what beyond me. Nevertheless his master is a good youth — 
ay, and I am well pleased that he hath gained shekels of gold 
and shekels of silver, even by the speed of his horse and by the 
strength of his lance, which, like that of Goliath the Philis- 
tiine, might vie with a weaver’s beam.”^ 

As he turned to receive Rebecca’s answer, he observed, that 
during his chaffering with Gurth, she had left the apartment 
unperceived. 

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair, and, 
having reached the dark antechamber or hall, was puzzling 
about to discover the entrance, when a figure in white, shown 
by a small silver lamp which she held in her hand, beckoned 
him into a side apartment. Gurth had some reluctance to 
obey the summons. Rough and impetuous as a wild boar, 
where only earthly force was to be apprehended, he had all 
the characteristic terrors of a Saxon respecting fauns, forest- 
fiends, white women, and the whole of the superstitions which 
his ancestors had brought with them from the wilds of Ger- 
many. He remembered, moreover, that he was in the house 
of a Jew, a people who, besides the other unamiable qualities 
which popular report ascribed to them, were supposed to be 
profound necromancers and cabalists.^ Nevertheless, after a 
moment’s pause, he obeyed the beckoning summons of the 
apparition, and followed her into the apartment which she 
indicated, where he found to his joyful surprise that his fair 
guide was the beautiful Jewess whom he had seen at the tour- 
nament, and a short time in her father’s apartment. 

She asked him the particulars of his transaction with Isaac, 
which he detailed accurately. 

^^My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,” said Re- 
becca; ^^he owes thy master deeper kindness than these arms 
and steed could pay, were their value tenfold. What sum 
didst thou pay my father even now?” 

“Eighty zecchins,” said Gurth, surprised at the question. 

1 I. Samuel xvii : 4, 7. with the Jewish system of mystical phi- 

* Necromancers were pereons pretend- losophy. Gurth’s superstitious feelings 
ing to have communication with the were aroused, 
dead. Cabalists were those familiar 


IVANHOE. 


Ill 


this purse/’ said Eebecca, “thou wilt find a hundred. 
Eestore to thy master that which is his due, and enrich thy- 
self with the remainder. Haste — ^begone — stay not to render 
thanks ! and beware how you pass through this crowded town, 
where thou mayst easily lose both thy burden and thy life. — 
Eeuben,” she added, clapping her hands together, -fiight forth 
this stranger, and fail not to draw lock and bar behind him.” 

Eeuben, a dark-browed and black-bearded Israelite, obeyed 
her summons, with a torch in his hand; undid the outward 
door of the house, and conducting Gurth across a paved court, 
let him out through a wicket in the entrance-gate, which he 
closed behind him with such bolts and chains as would well 
have become that of a prison. 

“By St. Dunstan,” said Gurth, as he stumbled up the dark 
avenue, “this is no Jewess, but an angel from heaven! Ten 
zecchins from my brave young master — twenty from this 
pearl of Zion — Oh, happy day! — Such another, Gurth, will 
redeem thy bondage, and make thee a brother as free of thy 
guild^ as the best. And then do I lay down my swineherd’s 
horn and staff, and take the freeman’s sword and buckler, and 
follow my young master to the death, without hiding either 
my face or my name.” 

I 


CHAPTEE XI 

GURTH’S further nocturnal adventures. ST. NICHOLAS’S CLERKS. 
all’s well that ends well. 

The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet concluded ; 
indeed, he himself became partly of that mind, when, after 
passing one or two straggling houses which stood in the out- 
skirts of the village, he found himself in a deep lane, running 
between two banks overgrown with hazel and holly, while here 
and there a dwarf oak fiung its arms altogether across the 
path. The lane was moreover much rutted and broken up by 
the carriages which had recently transported articles of vari- 
ous kinds to the tournament; and it was dark, for the banks 
and bushes intercepted the light of the harvest moon. 

J an association of persons of kindred pursuits for mutual protection. 


112 


IVANHOE. 


From the village were heard the distant sounds of revelry, 
mixed occasionally with loud laughter, sometimes broken by 
screams, and sometimes by wild strains of distant music. 
All these sounds, intimating the disorderly state of the town, 
crowded with military nobles and their dissolute attendants, 
gave Gurth some uneasiness. ‘^The Jewess was right,” he said 
to himself. ‘‘By heaven and St. Dunstan, I would I were safe 
at my journey’s end with all this treasure ! Here are such 
numbers, I will not say of arrant^ thieves, but of errant^ 
knights and errant squires, errant monks and errant min- 
strels, errant jugglers and errant jesters, that a man with a 
single merk® would be in danger, much more a poor swine- 
herd with a whole bagful of zecchins. Would I were out of 
the shade of these infernal bushes, that I might at least see 
any of St. Nicholas’s clerks^ before they spring on my 
shoulders.” 

Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to gain the 
open common to which the lane led, but was not so fortunate 
as to accomplish his object. Just as he had attained the 
upper end of the lane, where the underwood was thickest, four 
men sprung upon him, even as his fears anticipated, two from 
each side of the road, and seized him so fast, that resistance, 
if at first practicable, would have been now too late. — “Surren- 
der your charge,” said one of them; “we are the deliverers 
of the commonwealth, who ease every man of his burden.” 

“You should not ease me of mine so lightly,” muttered 
Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be tamed even by the 
pressure of immediate violence, “had I it but in my power to 
give three strokes in its defence.” 

“We shall see that presently,” said the robber, and, speak- 
ing to his companions, he added, “bring along the knave. T 
see he would have his head broken, as well as his purse cut, 
and so be let blood in two veins at once.” 

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate, and 
having been dragged somewhat roughly over the bank, on the 
left-hand side of the lane, found himself in a straggling 
thicket, which lay betwixt it and the open common. He was 

* notorious. * wandering, roaming. found in Shakespeare’s King Henry VI., 

® an Anglo-Saxon coin. Prat I, Act ii. Scene 1: “if they meet not 

* clerks of Old Nick or the devil; here, with Saint Nicholas’s clerks.’’ 
highwaymen. The same expression is 


IVANHOE. 


113 


compelled to follow his rough conductors into the very depth 
of this cover, where they stopt unexpectedly in an irregular 
open space, free in a great measure from trees, and on which,, 
therefore, the beams of the moon fell without much interrup- 
tion from bough and leaves. Here his captors were joined by 
two other persons, apparently belonging to the gang. They 
had short swords by their sides, and quarter-staves in their 
hands, and Gurth could now observe that all six wore visors, 
which rendered their occupation a matter of no question, 
even had their former proceedings left it in doubt. 

^‘What money hast thou, churl said one of the thieves. 

“Thirty zecchins of my own property,” answered Gurth, 
doggedly. 

“A forfeit — a forfeit,” shouted the robbers ; “a Saxon hath 
thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a village! An un- 
deniable and unredeemable forfeit of all he hath about him.” 

“I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,” said Gurth. 

“Thou art an ass,” replied one of the thieves ; “three quarts 
of double ale had rendered thee as free as thy master, ay, and 
freer too, if he be a Saxon like thyself.” 

“A sad truth,” replied Gurth; “but if these same thirty 
zecchins will buy my freedom from you, unloose my hands, 
and I will pay them to you.” 

“Hold,” said one who seemed to exercise some authority 
over the others; “this bag which thou bearest, as I can feel 
through thy cloak, contains more coin than thou hast told 
us of.” 

“It is the good knight my master^s,” answered Gurth, “of 
which, assuredly, I would not have spoken a word, had you 
been satisfied with working your will upon mine own prop- 
erty.” 

“Thou art an honest fellow,” replied the robber, “I war- 
rant thee; and we worship not St. Nicholas so devoutly but 
what thy thirty zecchins may yet escape, if thou deal up- 
rightly with us. Meantime render up thy trust for the time.” 
So saying, he took from Gurth^s breast the large leathern 
pouch, in which the purse given him by Eebecca was enclosed, 
as well as the rest of the zecchins, and then continued his 
interrogation. — “Who is thy master?” 

“The Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth. 


114 


IVANHOE. 


''Whose good lance/’ replied the robber, "won the prize in 
to-day’s tourney ? What is his name and lineage ?” 

"It is his pleasure,” answered Gurth, "that they be con- 
cealed; and from me, assuredly, you will learn nought of 
them.” 

"What is thine own name and lineage?” 

"To tell that,” said Gurth, "might reveal my master’s.” 

"Thou art a saucy groom,” said the robber, "but of that 
anon. How comes thy master by this gold? Is it of his 
inheritance, or by what means hath it accrued to him?” 

"By his good lance,” answered Gurth. — "These bags con- 
tain the ransom of four good horses, and four good suits of 
armour.” 

"How much is there ?” demanded the robber. 

"Two hundred zecchins.” 

"Only two hundred zecchins !” said the bandit ; "your mas- 
ter hath dealt liberally by the vanquished, and put them to a 
cheap ransom. Name those who paid the gold.” 

Gurth did so. 

"The armour and horse of the Templar Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, at what ransom were they held? — Thou seest thou 
canst not deceive me.” 

"My master,” replied Gurth, "will take nought from the 
Templar save his life’s blood. They are on terms of mortal 
defiance, and cannot hold courteous intercourse together.” 

"Indeed !” repeated the robber, and paused after he had 
said the word. "And what wert thou now doing at Ashby 
with such a charge in thy custody?” 

"I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of York,” re- 
plied Gurth, "the price of a suit of armour with which he 
fitted my master for this tournament.” 

"And how much didst thou pay to Isaac? — Methinks to 
judge by weight, there is still two hundred zecchins in this 
pouch.” 

"I paid to Isaac,” said the Saxon, "eighty zecchins, and he 
restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.” 

"How ! what !” exclaimed all the robbers at once ; "darest 
thou trifie with us, that thou tellest such improbable lies?” 

"What I tell you,” said Gurth, "is as true as the moon is in 
heaven. You will find the just sum in a silken purse within 


IVANHOE. 


115 


the leathern pouch, and separate from the rest of the gold.’^ 
'^Bethink thee, man,^^ said the Captain, ^^thou speakest of a 
Jew — of an Israelite, — as unapt to restore gold as the dry 
sand of his deserts to return the cup of water which the pil- 
grim spills upon them.” 

^‘There is no more mercy in them,” said another of the 
banditti, ^^than in an unbribed sheriffs officer.”' 

‘^It is, however, as I say,” said Gurth. 

^‘Strike a light instantly,” said the Captain; ‘‘1 will exam- 
ine this said purse; and if it be as this fellow says, the Jew’s 
bounty is little less miraculous than the stream which relieved 
his fathers in the wilderness.”’^ 

A light was procured accordingly, and the robber proceeded 
to examine the purse. The others crowded around him, and 
even two who had hold of Gurth relaxed their grasp while 
they stretched their necks to see the issue of the search. Avail- 
ing himself of their negligence, by a sudden exertion of 
strength and activity, Gurth shook himself free of their hold, 
and might have escaped, could he have resolved to leave his 
master’s property behind him. But such was no part of his 
intention. He wrenched a quarter-staff from one of the fel- 
lows, struck down the Captain, who was altogether unaware 
of his purpose, and had well-nigh repossessed himself of the 
pouch and treasure. The thieves, however, were too nimble 
for him, and again secured both the bag and the trusty Gurth. 

^TCnave !” said the Captain, getting up, ^Thou hast broken 
my head; and with other men of our sort thou wouldst fare 
the worse for thy insolence. But thou shalt know thy fate 
instantly. First let us speak of thy master ; the knight’s mat- 
ters must go before the squire’s, according to due order of 
chivalry. Stand thou fast in the meantime — if thou stir 
again, thou shalt have that will make thee quiet for life. — 
Comrades !” he then said, addressing his gang, ^This purse is 
embroidered with Hebrew characters, and I well believe the 
yeoman’s tale is true. The errant Imight, his master, must 
needs pass us toll-free. He is too like ourselves for us to 
make booty of him, since dogs should not worry dogs where 
wolves and foxes are to be found in abundance.” 


1 Numbers xx:2-ll. 


116 


IVANHOE. 


“Like us?^^ answered one of the gang; “I should like to 
hear how that is made good.” 

“Why, thou fool,” answered the Captain, “is he not poor 
and disinherited as we are ? — Doth he not win his substance 
at the sword’s point as we do ? — Hath he not beaten Front-de- 
Boeuf and Malvoisin, even as we would beat them if we could ? 
Is he not the enemy to life and death of Brian de Bois-Guil- 
hert, whom we have so much reason to fear? And were all 
this otherwise, wouldst thou have us show a worse conscience 
than an unbeliever, a Hebrew Jew?” 

“Hay, that were a shame,” muttered the other fellow; “and 
yet, when I served in the band of stout old Gandelyn, we had 
no such scruples of conscience. And this insolent peasant, — 
he too, I warrant me, is to be dismissed scatheless?” 

“Not if thou canst scathe^ him,” replied the Captain. — 
^^Here, fellow,” continued he, addressing Gurth, “canst thou 
use the staff, that thou startst to it so readily ?” 

“I think,” said Gurth, “thou shouldst be best able to reply 
to that question.” 

“Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round knock,” replied 
the Captain ; “do as much for this fellow, and thou shalt pass 
scot-free f and if thou dost not — why, by my faith, as thou art 
such a sturdy knave, I think I must pay thy ransom myself. — 
Take thy staff. Miller,” he added, “and keep thy head; and 
do you others let the fellow go, and give him a staff — there is 
light enough to lay on load by.” 

The two champions being alike armed with quarter-staves, 
stept forward into the centre of the open space, in order to 
have the full benefit of the moonlight; the thieves in the 
meanwhile laughing, and crying to their comrade, “Miller! 
beware thy toll-dish.”® The Miller, on the other hand, hold- 
ing his quarter-staff by the middle, and making it flourish 
round his head after the fashion which the French call faire 
le moulinet, exclaimed boastfully, “Come on, churl, an thou 
darest; thou shalt feel the strength of a miller’s thumb!” 

“If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, undauntedly. 


1 The Captain tells him he is to answer 
his question in trial of strength and 
skill. 

* free from scot or a fine; untaxed, 
unharmed. 

s The medieval miller with his “toll- 


dish” measured out the portion of the 
meal he was to receive for grinding. 
He tested the fineness of the flour by 
feeling it between his thumb and finger. 
Scott seems to have called the miller’s 
head his “toll-dish.” 


IVANHOE. 


117 


making his weapon play around his head with equal dexterity, 
^^thou art doubly a thief, and I, as a true man, bid thee 
defiance.” 

So saying, the two champions closed together, and for a 
few minutes they displayed great equality in strength, cour- 
age, and skill, intercepting and returning the blows of their 
adversary with the most rapid dexterity, while, from the con- 
tinued clatter of their weapons, a person at a distance might 
have supposed that there were at least six persons engaged 
on each side. Less obstinate, and even less dangerous com- 
bats, have been described in good heroic verse; but that of 
Gurth and the Miller must remain unsung, for want of a 
sacred poet to do justice to its eventful progress. Yet, though 
quarter-staff play be out of date, what we can in prose we 
will do for these bold champions. 

Long they fought equally, until the Miller began to lose 
temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed, and at hearing 
the laughter of his companions, who, as usual in such cases, 
enjoyed his vexation. This was not a state of mind favourable 
to the noble game of quarter-staff, in which, as in ordinary 
cudgel-playing, the utmost coolness is requisite; and it gave 
Gurth, whose temper was steady, though surly, the oppor- 
tunity of acquiring a decided advantage, in availing himself 
of which he displayed great mastery. 

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing blows with 
either end of his weapon alternately, and striving to come to 
half-staff distance, while Gurth defended himself against the 
attack, keeping his hands about a yard asunder, and covering 
himself by shifting his weapon with great celerity, so as to 
protect his head and body. Thus did he maintain the de- 
fensive, making his eye, foot, and hand keep true time, until, 
observing his antagonist to lose wind, he darted the staff at 
his face with his left hand; and as the Miller endeavoured to 
parry the thrust, he slid his right hand down to his left, 
and with the full swing of the weapon struck his opponent 
on the left side of the head, who instantly measured his length 
upon the green sward. 

^^Well and yeomanly done !” shouted the robbers : ^Tair play 
and old England forever! The Saxon hath saved both his 
purse and his hide, and the Miller has met his match.” 


118 


IVANHOE. 


'^Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend/’ said the Captain, 
addressing Gurth, in special confirmation of the general voice, 
“and I will cause two of my comrades to guide thee by the 
best way to thy master’s pavilion, and to guard thee from 
night-walkers that might have less tender consciences than 
ours; for there is many one of them upon the amble in such 
a night as this. Take heed, however,” he added sternly; 
“remember thou hast refused to tell thy name — ask not after 
ours, nor endeavour to discover who or what we are; for, if 
thou makest such an attempt, thou wilt come by worse for- 
tune than has yet befallen thee.” 

Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and promised 
to attend to his recommendation. Two of the outlaws, tak- 
ing up their quarter-staves, and desiring Gurth to follow 
close in the rear, walked roundly forward along a by-path, 
which traversed the thicket and the broken ground adjacent 
to it. On the very verge of the thicket two men spoke to his 
conductors, and receiving an answer in a whisper, withdrew 
into the wood, and suffered them to pass unmolested. This 
circumstance induced Gurth to believe both that the gang 
was strong in numbers, and that they kept regular guards 
around their place of rendezvous. 

When they arrived on the open heath, where Gurth might 
have had some trouble in finding his road, the thieves guided 
him straight forward to the top of a little eminence, whence 
he could see, spread beneath him in the moonlight, the pali- 
sades of the lists, the glimmering pavilions pitched at either 
end, with the pennons which adorned them buttering in the 
moonbeams, and from which could be heard the hum of the 
song with which the sentinels were beguiling their night- 
watch. 

Here the thieves stopt. 

“We go with you no farther,” said they; “it were not safe 
that we should do so. — Remember the warning you have 
received — keep secret what has this night befallen you, and 
you will have no room to repent it — neglect what is now told 
you, and the Tower of London^ shall not protect you against 
our revenge.” 

1 a celebrated ancient fortress in Lon- acres. The White Tower, a first ciass 
don, a collection of buildings of various medieval fortress, was built a hundred 
ages occupying a space of about thirteen years before the time of this story. 


IVANHOE. N 119 

'■ \ 

^^Good night to you, kind sirs,” said Gurth; shall re- 
member your orders, and trust that the\e is no offence in 
wishing you a safer and an honester trade.” 

Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the direction 
from whence they had come, and Gurth proceeding to the tent 
of his master, to whom, notwithstanding the injunction he 
had received, he communicated the whole adventures of the 
evening. 

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment, no 
less at the generosity of Eebecca, by which, however, he 
resolved he would not profit, than that of the robbers, to 
whose profession such a quality seemed totally foreign. His 
course of refiections upon these singular circumstances was, 
however, interrupted by the necessity for taking repose, which 
the fatigue of the preceding day, and the propriety of refresh- 
ing himself for the morrow’s encounter, rendered alike in- 
dispensable. 

The knight, therefore, stretched himself for repose upon a 
rich couch with which the tent was provided ; and the faith- 
ful Gurth, extending his hardy limbs upon a bear-skin which 
formed a sort of carpet to the pavilion, laid himself across the 
opening of the tent, so that no one could enter without 
awakening him. 


CHAPTER XII 

SECOND DAY OF THE TOURNAMENT. LAWS OF THE TOURNEY. THE 
COMBAT. THE TWO LEADERS. THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK 
ARMOR. THE CONFLICT ENDS. THE CHAPLET OF HONOR. IVAN- 
HOE DISCLOSED. 

Morning arose in unclouded splendour, and ere the sun was 
much above the horizon, the idlest or the most eager of the 
spectators appeared on the common, moving to the lists as to 
a general centre, in order to secure a favourable situation for 
viewing the continuation of the expected games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on the 
field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of receiving 
the names of the knights who intended to joust, with the 
side which each chose to espouse. This was a necessary pre- 
caution, in order to secure equality betwixt the two bodies 
who should be opposed to each other. 


120 


IVANHOE. 


According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight was to 
be considered as leader of the one body, while Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, who had been rated as having done second-best in 
the preceding day, was named first champion of the other 
band. Those who had concurred in the challenge adhered to 
his party, of course, excepting only Ealph de Vipont, whom 
his fall had rendered unfit so soon to put on his armour. 
There was no want of distinguished and noble candidates to 
fill up the ranks on either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single 
encounters, they were, nevertheless, more frequented and 
practised by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who had 
not sufficient confidence in their own skill to defy a single 
adversary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, desirous of 
displaying their valour in the general combat, where they 
might meet others with whom they were more upon an 
equality. On the present occasion, about fifty knights were 
inscribed as desirous of combating upon each side, when the 
marshals declared that no more could be admitted, to the 
disappointment of several who were too late in preferring 
their claim to be included. 

About the hour of ten o’clock, the whole plain was crowded 
with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passengers, hastening 
to the tournament; and shortly after, a grand flourish of 
trumpets announced Prince John and his retinue, attended 
by many of those knights who meant to take share in the 
game, as well as others who had no such intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with the 
Lady Eowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. This 
Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person in armour, 
in order to take his place among the combatants; and, con- 
siderably to the surprise of Cedric, had chosen to enlist him- 
self on the part of the Knight Templar. The Saxon, indeed, 
had remonstrated strongly with his friend upon the inju- 
dicious choice he had made of his party; but he had only 
received that sort of answer usually given by those who are 
more obstinate in following their own course than strong in 
justifying it. 

His best, if not his only reason, for adhering to the party 


IVANHOE. 


121 


of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the prudence to 
keep to himself. Though his apathy of disposition prevented 
his taking any means to recommend himself to the Lady 
Eowena, he was, nevertheless, by no means insensible to her 
charms, and considered his union with her as a matter already 
fixed beyond doubt, by the assent of Cedric and her other 
friends. It had therefore been with smothered displeasure 
that the proud though indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld 
the victor of the preceding day select Eowena as the object 
of that honour which it became his privilege to confer. In 
order to punish him for a preference which seemed to inter- 
fere with his own suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, 
and to whom his flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in 
arms, had determined not only to deprive the Disinherited 
Knight of his powerful succour, but, if an opportunity should 
occur, to make him feel the weight of his battle-axe. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, iii 
obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party of the 
challengers, John being desirous to secure, if possible, the 
victory to that side. On the other hand, many other knights, 
both English and Korman, natives and strangers, took part 
against the challengers, the more readily that the opposite 
band was to be led by so distinguished a champion as the 
Disinherited Knight had approved himself. 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined Queen 
of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming that air of 
courtesy which sat well upon him when he was pleased to 
exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, doffed his bonnet, and, 
alighting from his horse, assisted the Lady Eowena from her 
saddle, while his followers uncovered at the same time, and 
one of the most distinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 

‘‘It is thus,” said Prince John, ^That we set the dutiful 
example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are 
ourselves her guide to the throne which she must this day 
occupy. — Ladies,” he said, “attend your Queen, as you wisli 
in your turn to be distinguished by like honours.” 

So saying, the Prince marshaled Eowena to the seat of 
honour opposite his own, while the fairest and most distin- 
guished ladies present crowded after her to obtain places as 
near as possible to their temporary sovereign. 


122 


IVANHOE. 


No sooner was Eowena seated than a burst of music, half 
drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her new 
dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright upon the 
polished arms of the knights of either side, who crowded the 
opposite extremities of the lists, and held eager conference 
together concerning the best mode of arranging their line 
of battle, and supporting the confiict. 

The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of the 
tourney should be rehearsed. These were calculated in some 
degree to abate the dangers of the day; a precaution the 
more necessary, as the conflict was to be maintained with 
sharp swords and pointed lances. 

The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust with 
the sword, and were confined to striking. A knight, it was 
announced, might use a mace^ or battle-axe at pleasure, but 
the dagger was a prohibited weapon. A knight unhorsed 
might renew the fight on foot with any other on the opposite 
side in the same predicament; but mounted horsemen were 
in that case forbidden to assail him. When any knight could 
force his antagonist to the extremity of the lists, so as to 
touch the palisade with his person or arms, such opponent 
was obliged to yield himself vanquished, and his armour and 
horse were placed at the disposal of the conqueror. A knight 
thus overcome was not permitted to take farther share in the 
combat. If any combatant was struck down, and unable to 
recover his feet, his squire or page might enter the lists, and 
drag his master out of the press ; but in that case the knight 
was adjudged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared 
forfeited. The combat was to cease as soon as Prince John 
.should throw down his leading staff, or truncheon; another 
precaution usually taken to prevent the unnecessary effusion 
of blood by the too long endurance of a sport so desperate. 
Any knight breaking the rules of the tournament, or other- 
wise transgressing the rules of honourable chivalry, was liable 
to be stripped of his arms, and, having his shield reversed, to 
be placed in that posture astride upon the bars of the 
palisade, and exposed to public derision, in punishment of 
his unknightly conduct. Having announced these precau- 

1 a medieval war club for inflicting a blow. The head of the club, corn- 
heavy blows. A thong about the wrist monly of metal, was often spiked, 

secured the weapon from loss in dealing 


IVANHOE. 


123 


tions, the heralds concluded with an exhortation to each good 
knight to do his duty, and to merit favour from the Queen 
of Beauty and Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds withdrew 
to their stations. The knights, entering at either end of the 
lists in long procession, arranged themselves in a double file, 
precisely opposite to each other, the leader of each party being 
in the centre of the foremost rank, a post which he did not 
occupy until each had carefully arranged the ranks of his 
party, and stationed every one at his place. 

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious sight, 
to behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely, and 
armed richly, stand ready prepared for an encounter so for- 
midable, seated on their war-saddles like so many pillars of 
iron, and awaiting the signal of encounter with the same 
ardour as their generous steeds, which, by neighing and paw- 
ing the ground, gave signal of their impatience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their 
bright points glancing to the sun, and the streamers with 
which they were decorated fluttering over the plumage of the 
helmets. Thus they remained while the marshals of the field 
surveyed their ranks with the utmost exactness, lest either 
party had more or fewer than the appointed number. The 
tale’^ was found exactly complete. The marshals then with- 
drew from the lists, and William de Wyvil, with a voice of 
thunder, pronounced the signal words — Laissez alter ! The 
trumpets sounded as he spoke — the spears of the champions 
were at once lowered and placed in the rests — the spurs were 
dashed into the flanks of the horses, and the two foremost 
ranks of either party rushed upon each other in full gallop, 
and met in the middle of the lists with a shock, the sound 
of which was heard at a mile^s distance. The rear rank of 
each party advanced at a slower pace to sustain the defeated, 
and follow up the success of the victors of their party. 

The consequences of the encounter were not instantly seen, 
for the dust raised by the trampling of so many steeds dark- 
ened the air, and it was a minute ere the anxious spectators 
could see the fate of the encounter. When the fight became 
visible, half the knights on each side were dismounted, some 

* counting off of a number. 


124 


IVANHOE. 


by the dexterity of their adversary’s lance, — some by the supe- 
rior weight and strength of opponents, which had borne down 
both horse and man, — some lay stretched on earth as if never 
more to rise, some had already gained their feet, and were 
closing hand to hand with those of their antagonists who 
were in the same predicament, — and several on both sides, 
who had received wounds by which they were disabled, were 
stopping their blood with their scarfs, and endeavouring to 
extricate themselves from the tumult. The mounted knights, 
whose lances had been almost all broken by the fury of the 
encounter, were now closely engaged with their swords, shout- 
ing their war-cries, and exchanging buffets, as if honour and 
life depended on the issue of the combat. 

The tumult was presently increased by the advance of the 
second rank on either side, which, acting as a reserve, now 
rushed on to aid their companions. The followers of Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert shouted: ''Ha! Beau-seant! Beau^seant!^ 
For the Temple! For the Temple!” The opposite party 
shouted in answer, ^'Desdichado! DesdichadoT ^ — which 
watchword they took from the motto upon their leader’s 
shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the 
utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide of battle 
seemed to flow now toward the southern, now toward the 
northern extremity of the lists, as the one or the other party 
prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows, and the shouts 
of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the 
trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell and lay 
rolling defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The splen- 
did armour of the combatants was now defaced with dust and 
blood, and gave way at every stroke of the sword and battle- 
axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon 
the iDreeze like snowflakes. All that was beautiful and grace- 
ful in the martial array had disappeared, and what was now 
visible was only calculated to awake terror or compassion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar 
spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, 

^ (pron. bo-sa-ong) the name of the Christians, but black and terrible to- 
Templars’ banner, which was half ward infidels — Scott, 
black, half white, to intimate, it is said, 2 Disinherited, 
that they were fair and candid toward 


IVANHOE. 


125 


but even the ladies of distinction, who crowded the galleries, 
saw the conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, but with- 
out a wish to withdraw their eyes from a sight so terrible. 
Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale, or a 
faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother, or a hus- 
band, was struck from his horse. But, in general, the ladies 
around encouraged the combatants, not only by clapping their 
hands and waving their veils and kerchiefs, but even by ex- 
claiming, ^^Brave lance ! Good sword !” when any successful 
thrust or blow took place under their observation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this bloody 
game, that of the men is the more easily understood. It 
showed itself in loud acclamations upon every change of for- 
tune, while all eyes were so riveted on the lists that the 
spectators seemed as if they themselves had dealt and received 
the blows which were there so freely bestowed. And between 
every pause was heard the voice of the heralds, exclaiming, 
^‘Fight on, brave knights ! Man dies, but glory lives ! Fight 
on — death is better than defeat! Fight on, brave knights! 
— for bright eyes behold your deeds!” 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all 
endeavoured to discover the leaders of each band, who, min- 
gling in the thick of the fight, encouraged their companions 
both by voice and example. Both displayed great feats of 
gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert or the Disinherited 
Knight find in the ranks opposed to them a champion who 
could be termed their unquestioned match. They repeatedly 
endeavoured to single out each other, spurred by mutual ani- 
mosity, and aware that the fall of either leader might be 
considered as decisive of victory. Such, however, was the 
crowd and confusion, that, during the earlier part of the 
confiict, their efforts to meet were unavailing, and they were 
repeatedly separated by the eagerness of their followers, each 
of whom was anxious to win honour, by measuring his 
strength against the leader of the opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on either 
side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had been com- 
pelled to the extremity of the lists, or been otherwise rendered 
incapable of continuing the strife, the Templar and the Dis- 
inherited Knight at length encountered hand to hand, with 


126 


IVANHOE. 


all the fury that mortal animosity, joined to rivalry of honour, 
could inspire. Such was the address of each in parrying 
and striking, that the spectators broke forth into a unani- 
mous and involuntary shout, expressive of their delight and 
admiration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight 
had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de-Boeuf on the 
one flank, and the ponderous strength of Athelstane on the 
other, bearing down and dispersing those immediately ex- 
posed to them. Finding themselves freed from their immedi- 
ate antagonists, it seems to have occurred to both these 
knights, at the same instant, that they would render the most 
decisive advantage to their party by aiding the Templar in 
his contest with his rival. Turning their horses, therefore, 
at the same moment, the Korman spurred against the Dis- 
inherited Knight on the one side, and the Saxon on the other. 
It was utterly impossible that the object of this unequal and 
unexpected assault could have sustained it, had he not been 
warned by a general cry from the spectators, who could not 
but take interest in one exposed to such disadvantage. 

'^Beware ! beware ! Sir Disinherited was shouted so uni- 
versally, that the knight became aware of his danger; and, 
striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined back his steed 
in the same moment, so as to escape the charge of Athelstane 
and Front-de-Boeuf. These knights, therefore, their aim be- 
ing thus eluded, rushed from opposite sides betwixt the object 
of their attack and the Templar, almost running their horses 
against each other ere they could stop their career. Recover- 
ing their horses, however, and wheeling them round, the 
whole three pursued their united purpose of bearing to the 
earth the Disinherited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him, except the remarkable 
strength and activity of the noble horse which he had won on 
the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois-Guil- 
bert was wounded, and those of Front-de-Boeuf and Athel- 
stane were both tired with the weight of their gigantic mas- 
ters, clad in complete armour, and with the preceding exertions 
of the day. The masterly horsemanship of the Disinherited 
Knight, and the activity of the noble animal which he 


IVANHOE. 


127 


mounted, enabled him for a few minutes to keep at sword^s 
point his three antagonists, turning and wheeling with the 
agility of a hawk upon the wing, keeping his enemies as far 
separate as he could, and rushing now against the one, now 
against the other, dealing sweeping blows with his sword, 
without waiting to receive those which were aimed at him 
in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applause of his dex- 
terity, it was evident that he must at last be overpowered; 
and the nobles around Prince John implored him with one 
voice to throw down his warder,^ and to save so brave a knight 
from the disgrace of being overcome by odds. 

‘^Not I, by the light of Heaven!’’ answered Prince John; 
^^this same springal,^ who conceals his name, and despises our 
proffered hospitality, hath already gained one prize, and may 
now afford to let others have their turn.” As he spoke thus, 
an unexpected incident changed the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a 
champion in black armour, mounted on a black horse, large 
of size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and strong, like 
the rider by whom he was mounted. This knight, who bore 
on his shield no device of any kind, had hitherto evinced 
very little interest in the' event of the fight, beating off with 
■seeming ease those combatants who attacked him, but neithef 
pursuing his advantages, nor himself assailing anyone. In 
short, he had hitherto acted the part rather of a spectator 
than of a party in the tournament, a circumstance which 
procured him among the spectators the name of Le Noir 
Faineant, or the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, when 
he discovered the leader of his party so hard bested f for, set- 
ting spurs to his horse, which was quite fresh, he came to his 
assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a 
trumpet-call, ''Desdichado, to the rescue !” It was high time ; 
for, while the Disinherited Knight was pressing upon the 
'Templar, Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to him. with his up- 
lifted sword; but ere the blow could descend, the Sable 
Knight dealt a stroke on his head, which, glancing from the 

1 a staff or baton used in giving signals. 

* youth. ® (be-sted') , imperiled, beset. 


128 


IVANHOE. 


polished helmet, lighted with violence scarcely abated on the 
chamfro'n} of the steed, and Front-de-Boenf rolled on the 
ground, both horse and man equally stunned by the fury of 
the blow. Le Noir Faineant then turned his horse upon 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; and his own sword having been 
broken in his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched 
from the hand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he 
wielded, and, like one familiar with the use of the weapon, 
bestowed him such a blow upon the crest, that Athelstane also 
lay senseless on the field. Having achieved this double feat, 
for which he was the more highly applauded that it was 
totally unexpected from him, the knight seemed to resume the 
sluggishness of his character, returning calmly to the north- 
ern extremity of the lists, leaving his leader to cope as he 
best could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer 
matter of so much difficulty as formerly. The Templar’s 
horse had bled much, and gave way under the shock of the 
Disinherited Knight’s charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled 
on the field, encumbered with the stirrup, from which he was 
unable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung from horse- 
back, waved his fatal sword over the head of his adversary, 
and commanded him to yield himself; when Prince John, 
more moved by the Templar’s dangerous situation than he 
had been by that of his rival, saved him the mortification of 
confessing himself vanquished, by casting down his warder, 
and putting an end to the conflict. 

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight which 
continued to burn ; for of the few knights who still continued 
in the lists, the greater part had, by tacit consent, forborne 
the conflict for some time, leaving it to be determined by the 
strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and 
difficulty to attend their masters during the engagement, now 
thronged into the lists to pay their dutiful attendance to the 
wounded, who were removed with the utmost care and atten- 
tion to the neighbouring pavilions, or to the quarters prepared 
for them in the adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, 
one of the most gallantly contested tournaments of that age; 

armor for the front of a horse’s head. 


IVANHOE. 


129 


for although only four knights, including one who was 
smothered by the heat of his armour, had died upon the field, 
yet upwards of thirty were desperately wounded, four or five 
of whom never recovered. Several more were disabled for 
life; and those who escaped best carried the marks of the 
conflict to the grave with them. Hence it is always men- 
tioned in the old records, as the Gentle and Joyous Passage 
of Arms of Ashby. 

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the knight 
who had done best, he determined that the honour of the day 
remained with the knight whom the popular voice had 
termed Le Noir Faineant. It was pointed out to the Prince, 
in impeachment of this decree, that the victory had been in 
fact won by the Disinherited Knight, who in the course of the 
day, had overcome six champions with his own hand, and who 
had finally unhorsed and struck down the leader of the oppo- 
site party. But Prince John adhered to his own opinion, on 
the ground that the Disinherited Knight and his party had 
lost the day but for the powerful assistance of the Knight 
of the Black Armour,^ to whom, therefore, he persisted in 
awarding the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus 
preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left the lists 
immediately when the conflict ceased, and had been observed 
by some spectators to move down one of the forest glades 
with the same slow pace and listless and indifferent manner 
which had procured him the epithet of the Black Sluggard. 
After he had been summoned twice by sound of trumpet, 
and proclamation of the heralds, it became necessary to name 
another to receive the honours which had been assigned to 
him. Prince John had now no further excuse for resisting 
the claim of the Disinherited Knight, whom, therefore, he 
named the champion of the day. 

Through a field slippery with blood, and encumbered with 
broken armour and the bodies of slain and wounded horses, 
the marshals of the lists again conducted the victor to the 
foot of Prince John’s throne. 

^^Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, ^^since by that 
title only you will consent to be known to us, we a second time 

1 Has Scott given any clew aa to who this knight may be? 


130 


IVANHOE. 


award to you the honours of this tournament, and announce 
to you your right to claim and receive from the hands of the 
Queen of Love and Beauty the Chaplet of Honour, which your 
valour has justly deserved/^ The Knight bowed low and 
gracefully, but returned no answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained 
their voices in proclaiming honour to the brave and glory to 
the victor, while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs and em- 
broidered veils, and while all ranks joined in a clamorous 
shout of exultation, the marshals conducted the Disinherited 
Knight across the lists to the foot of that throne of honour 
which was occupied by the Lady Eowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was made to 
kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since the fight had 
ended seemed rather to have been upon the impulse of those 
around him than from his own free will ; and it was observed 
that he tottered as they guided him the second time across 
the lists. Eowena, descending from her station with a grace- 
ful and dignified step, was about to place the chaplet which 
she held in her hand upon the helmet of the champion, when 
the marshals exclaimed with one voice, ^Tt must not be thus — 
his head must be bare.^^ The knight muttered faintly a few 
words which were lost in the hollow of his helmet, but their 
purport seemed to be a desire that his casque might not be 
removed. 

Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, the marshals 
paid no attention to his expressions of reluctance, but un- 
helmed him by cutting the laces of his casque, and undoing 
the fastening of his gorget. When the helmet was removed, 
the well-formed, yet sunburnt features of a young man of 
twenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion of short, fair hair. 
His countenance was as pale as death, and marked in one or 
two places with streaks of blood. 

Eowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a faint 
shriek ; but at once summoning up the energy of her disposi- 
tion, and compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, while 
her frame yet trembled with the violence of sudden emotion, 
she placed upon the drooping head of the victor the splendid 
chaplet which was the destined reward of the day, and pro- 
nounced, in a clear and distinct tone, these words : bestow 


IVANHOE. 


131 


on thee this chaplet. Sir Knight, as the meed of valour as- 
signed to this day^s victor.” Here she paused a moment, and 
then firmly added, ^^And upon brows more worthy could a 
wreath of chivalry never be placed !” 

The knight stooped his head, and kissed the hand of the 
lovely Sovereign by whom his valour had been rewarded ; and 
then, sinking yet farther forward, lay prostrate at her feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had been 
struck mute by the sudden appearance of his banished son, 
now rushed forward, as if to separate him from Eowena. But 
this had been already accomplished by the marshals of the 
field, who, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe’s swoon,^ had has- 
tened to undo his armour, and found that the head of a lance 
had penetrated his breastplate, and inflicted a wound in his 
side. 


CHAPTEK XIII 

THE FIEF OF IVANHOE. AN UNWELCOME LETTER. THE ARCHERY 
COMPETITION. LOCKSLEY. END OF THE TOURNAMENT. 

The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced than it 
flew from mouth to mouth, with all the celerity with which 
eagerness could convey and curiosity receive it. It was not 
long ere it reached the circle of the Prince, whose brow 
darkened as he heard the news. Looking around him, how- 
ever, with an air of scorn, ^^My Lords,” said he, ^^and espe- 
cially you. Sir Prior, what think ye of the doctrine the learned 
tell us, concerning innate attractions and antipathies? Me- 
thinks that I felt the presence of my brother’s minion,^ even 
when I least guessed whom yonder suit of armour enclosed.” 

^^Front-de-Boeuf must prepare to restore his fief^ of Ivan- 
hoe,” said De Bracy, who, having discharged his part honour- 
ably in the tournament, had laid his shield and helmet aside, 
and again mingled with the Prince’s retinue. 

^^Ay,” answered Waldemar Fitzurse, ^This gallant is likely 
to reclaim the castle and manor^ which Eichard assigned to 
him, and which your Highness’s generosity has since given to 
Front-de-Bceuf.” 

1 At last Scott discloses the name. under feudal tenure. 

2 favorite. < landed estate attached to the castle. 

* land tenure; a landed estate held 


132 


IVANHOE. 


‘Tront-de-Boeuf/^ replied John, “is a man more willing to 
swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe than to disgorge one of 
them. For the rest, sirs, I hope none here will deny my right 
to confer the fiefs of the crown upon the faithful followers 
who are around me, and ready to perform the usual military 
service, in the room of those who have wandered to foreign 
countries, and can neither render homage nor service when 
called upon.^^ 

The audience were too much interested in the question not 
to pronounce the Prince’s assumed right altogether indubita- 
ble. “A generous Prince ! — a most noble Lord, who thus 
takes upon himself the task of rewarding his faithful fol- 
lowers !” 

Such were the words which burst from the train, expectants 
all of them of similar grants at the expense of King Eich- 
ard’s followers and favourites, if indeed they had not as yet 
received such. Prior Aymer also assented to the general 
proposition, observing, however, “That the blessed Jerusalem 
could not indeed be termed a foreign country. She was 
communis mater — the mother of all Christians. But he saw 
not,” he declared, “how the Knight of Ivanhoe could plead 
any advantage from this, since he” (the Prior) “was assured 
that the crusaders, under Eichard, had never proceeded much 
farther than Askalon, which, as all the world knew, was a 
town of the Philistines, and entitled to none of the privileges 
of the Holy City.” 

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards the place 
where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground, now returned. “The 
gallant,” said he, “is likely to give your Highness little dis- 
turbance, and to leave Front-de-Boeuf in the quiet possession 
of his gains — he is severely wounded.” 

“Whatever becomes of him,” said Prince John, “he is vic- 
tor of the day ; and were he tenfold our enemy, or the devoted 
friend of our brother, which is perhaps the same, his wounds 
must be looked to — our own physician shall attend him.” 

A stern smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spoke. Walde- 
mar Fitzurse hastened to reply, that Ivanhoe was already 
removed from the lists, and in the custody of his friends. 

“I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “to see the grief of the 
Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty of a day this 


IVANHOE. 


133 


event has changed into mourning. I am not a man to be 
moved by a woman’s lament for her lover, bnt this same Lady 
Eowena suppressed her sorrow with such dignity of manner, 
that it could only be discovered by her folded hands, and her 
tearless e3^e, which trembled as it remained fixed on the life- 
less form before her.” 

^^Who is this Lady Eowena,” said Prince John, ^^of whom 
we have heard so much?” 

Saxon heiress of large possessions,” replied the Prior 
Aymer; ^^a rose of loveliness, and a jewel of wealth; the fair- 
est among a thousand, a bundle of myrrh, and a cluster of 
camphire.” 

^^We shall cheer her sorrows,” said Prince John, ^^and 
amend her blood, by wedding her to a Norman. She seems 
a minor and must therefore be at our royal disposal in mar- 
riage. — How sayst thou, De Bracy? What thinkst thou of 
gaining fair lands and livings, by wedding a Saxon, after the 
fashion of the followers of the Conqueror?” 

^^If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered De 
Bracy, ^fit will be hard to displease me with a bride; and 
deeply will I hold myself bound to your Highness for a good 
deed, which will fulfil all promises made in favour of your 
servant and vassal.” 

^^We will not forget it,” said Prince John; ^^and that we 
may instantly go to work, command our seneschaP presently 
to order the attendance of the Lady Eowena and her company 
— that is, the rude churl her guardian, and the Saxon ox 
whom the Black Knight struck down in the tournament, upon 
this evening’s banquet. De Bigot,” he added to his seneschal, 
^^thou wilt word this our second summons so courteously as 
to gratify the pride of these Saxons, and make it impossible 
for them again to refuse; although, by the bones of Becket,^ 
courtesy to them is casting pearls before swine.” 

Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was about to give 
the signal for retiring from the lists, when a small billet was 
put into his hand. 


1 officer of a prince or noble’s house- 
hold, steward. , , . , , ^ 

2 Thomas k Becket, archbishop of Can- 
terbury, born in London about 1117, 
assassinated in Canterbury Cathedral 
29th October, 1170. Four knights, in- 
duced by a rash hint from the king, 


Henry II., slew the archbishop while at 
vespers in the cathedral. Becket was 
canonized in 1172, and his shrine at 
Canterbury was for three centuries a 
favorite place of pilgrimage for English- 
men. 


134 


IVANHOE. 


^^From whence?” said Prince John, looking at the person 
by whom it was delivered. 

^^From foreign parts, my lord, but from whence I know 
not,” replied his attendant. Frenchman brought it hither, 
who said he had ridden night and day to put it into the hands- 
of your Highness.” 

The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription, and then 
at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox-silk with which the 
billet was surrounded, and which bore the impression of three 
fleurs-de-lis. John then opened the billet with apparent 
agitation, which visibly and greatly increased when he had 
perused the contents, which were expressed in these words — 

''Talce heed to yourself for the Devil is unchained 

The Prince turned as pale as death, looked first on the earth, 
and then to heaven, like a man who has received news that 
sentence of execution has been passed upon him. Eecovering 
from the first effects of his surprise, he took Waldemar Fitz- 
urse and He Bracy aside, and put the billet into their hands 
successively. ^Tt means,” he added, in a faltering voice, 
^That my brother Kichard has obtained his freedom.” 

^‘This may be a false alarm, or a forged letter,” said De 
Bracy. 

is France’s own hand and seal,” replied Prince John. 

^Tt is time, then,” said Fitzurse, ^To draw our party to a 
head, either at York, or some other centrical place. A few 
days later, and it will be indeed too late. Your Highness 
must break short this present mummery.” 

‘^The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy, ^^must not be 
dismissed discontented, for lack of their share in the sports.” 

^^The day,” said Waldemar, ^fis not yet very far spent — let . 
the archers shoot a few rounds at the target, and the prize be 
adjudged. This will be an abundant fulfilment of the 
Prince’s promises, so far as this herd of Saxon serfs is con- 
cerned.” 

thank thee, Waldemar,” said the Prince ; ^Thou remind- 
est me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that insolent peasant 
who yesterday insulted our person. Our banquet also shall go 
forward to-night as we proposed. Were this my last hour 

^ These are the'^ words of the message John, and his adherents were of course 
sent by Philip of France to Prince John. greatly disturbed. 


IVANHOE. 


135 


of power, it should be an hour sacred to revenge and to pleas- 
ure — let new cares come with to-morrow’s new day.” 

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spectators 
who had already begun to leave the field; and proclamation 
was made that Prince John, suddenly called by high and 
peremptory public duties, held himself obliged to discontinue 
the entertainments of to-morrow’s festival : nevertheless, 
that, unwilling so many good yeomen should depart without a 
trial of skill, he was pleased to appoint them, before leaving 
the ground, presently to execute the competition of archery 
intended for the morrow. To the best archer a prize was to 
be awarded, being a bugle-horn, mounted with silver, and a 
silver baldric richly ornamented with a medallion of St. 
Hubert, the patron of silvan sport. 

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves as 
competitors, several of whom were rangers and under-keepers 
in the royal forests of Needwood and Charnwood. When, 
however, the archers understood with whom they were to be 
matched, upwards of twenty withdrew themselves from the 
contest, unwilling to encounter the dishonour of almost cer- 
tain defeat. For in those days the skill of each celebrated 
marksman was well known for many miles round him, as 
the qualities of a horse trained at Newmarket^ are familiar 
to those who frequent that well-known meeting. 

The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still 
amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal seat 
to view more nearly the persons of these chosen yeomen, sev- 
eral of whom wore the royal livery. Having satisfied his 
curiosity by this investigation, he looked for the object of 
his resentment, whom he observed standing on the same spot, 
and with the same composed countenance which he had ex- 
hibited upon the preceding day. 

^^Fellow,” said Prince John, “I guessed by thy insolent 
babble thou wert no true lover of the longbow,^ and I see thou 
darest not adventure thy skill among such merry-men as 
stand yonder.” 

^^Under favour, sir,” replied the yeoman, have another 

1 a town of England famed for its race * as distinct from the crossbow, which 
course, races, and horse-training estab- was mounted on a stock. The longbow 
lishinents. was about the height of a man . 


136 


IVANHOE. 


reason for refraining to shoot, besides the fearing discom- 
fiture and disgrace/^ 

‘^And what is thy other reason?” said Prince John, who, 
for some cause which, perhaps, he could not himself have 
explained, felt a painful curiosity respecting this individual. 

^^Because,” replied the woodsman, know not if these 
yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same marks; and be- 
cause, moreover, I know not how your Grace might relish 
the winning of a third prize by one who has unwittingly 
fallen under your displeasure.” 

Price John coloured as he put the question, ^^What is thy 
name, yeoman?” 

“Locksley,”^ answered the yeoman. 

^^Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, ^^thou shalt shoot in 
tliy turn, when these yeomen have displayed their skill. If 
thou carries! the prize, I will add to it twenty nobles;^ but 
if thou loses! it, thou shalt be strip! of thy Lincoln-green, 
and scourged out of the lists with bowstrings, for a wordy 
and insolent braggart.” 

‘^And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager?” said the 
yeoman. — ^^Your Grace’s power, supported, as it is, by so 
many men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip and scourge me, 
hut cannot compel me to bend or to draw my bow.” 

^Jf thou refuses! my fair proffer,” said the Prince, ^^the 
Provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break thy bow 
and arrows, and expel thee from the presence as a faint- 
hearted craven.” 

‘^This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,” said 
the yeoman, compel me to peril myself against the best 
archers of Leicester and Staffordshire, under the penalty of 
infamy if they should overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will 
obey your pleasure.” 

‘'Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John; “his 
heart is sinking. I am jealous lest he attempt to escape the 
trial. — And do you, good fellows, shoot boldly round; a buck 
and a butt of wine are ready for your refreshment in yonder 
tent, when the prize is won.” 

* Scott’s name for Robin Hood, the there is for the story of Robin Hood is 
famous outlaw of Sherwood Forest. doubtful. 

His skill with the longbow was cele- * old English coin worth about $1.60 
brated in tradition. What basis of fact 


IVANHOE. 


137 


A target was placed at the upper end of the southern 
avenue which led to the lists. The contending archers took 
their station in turn, at the bottom of the southern access, 
the distance between that station and the mark allowing full 
distance for what was called a shot at rovers. The archers, 
having previously determined by lot their order of precedence, 
were to shoot each three shafts in succession. The sports were 
reflated by an officer of inferior rank, termed the Provost 
of the Games; for the high rank of the marshals of the lists 
Would have been held degraded had they condescended to 
superintend the sports of the yeomanry. 

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered their 
shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four arrows, shot 
in succession, ten were fixed in the target, and the others 
ranged so near it, that, considering the distance of the mark, 
it was accounted good archery. Of the ten shafts which hit 
the target, two within the inner ring were shot by Hubert, a 
forester in the service of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pro- 
nounced victorious. 

^^ISTow, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeoman, 
with a bitter smile, ^Vilt thou try conclusions with Hubert, 
or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver to the Provost 
of the sports 

^^Sith it be no better,^^ said Locksley, am content to try 
my fortune, on condition that when I have shot two shafts at 
yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound to shoot one at 
that which I shall propose.” 

“That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “and it shall not 
be refused thee. If thou dost beat this braggart, Hubert, I 
will fill the bugle with silver pennies for thee.” 

“A man can do but his best,” answered Hubert; ^ffiut my 
grandsire drew a good long bow at Hastings, and I trust not 
to dishonour his memory.” 

The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of the 
same size placed in its room. Hubert, who, as victor in the 
first trial of skill, had the right to shoot first, took his aim 
with great deliberation, long measuring the distance with his 
eye, while he held in his hand his bended bow, with the arrow 
placed on the string. At length he made a step forward, and 
raising the bow at the full stretch of his left arm, till the 


138 


IVANHOE. 


centre or grasping-place was nigh level with his face, he drew 
his bowstring to his ear. The arrow whistled through the 
air, and lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not 
exactly in the centre. 

*^You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said his 
antagonist, bending his bow, ^^or that had been a better shot.” 

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause 
upon his aim, Locksley stept to the appointed station, and 
shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not 
even looked at the mark. He was speaking almost at the 
instant that the shaft left the bowstring, yet it alighted in 
the target two inches nearer to the white spot which marked 
the centre than that of Hubert. 

^^By the light of heaven !” said Prince John to Hubert, ^^an 
thou suffer that runagate^ knave to overcome thee, thou art 
worthy of the gallows !” 

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. ^^An your 
Highness were to hang me,” he said, ^^a man can but do his 
best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow — 

“The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!” 
interrupted John; “shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it 
shall be worse for thee !” 

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglect- 
ing the caution which he had received from his adversary, he 
made the necessary allowance for a very light air of wind, 
which had just arisen, and shot so successfully that his arrow 
alighted in the very centre of the target. 

“A Hubert I a Hubert !” shouted the populace, more inter- 
ested in a known person than in a stranger. “In the clout 
— in the clout ! — a Hubert forever 1” 

“Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the Prince, 
with an insulting smile. 

“I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied Locksley. 

And letting fiy his arrow with a little more precaution than 
before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it 
split to shivers. The people who stood around were so aston- 
ished at his wonderful dexterity that they could not even give 
vent to their surprise in their usual clamour. “This must be 
the devil, and no man of fiesh and blood,” whispered the yeo- 

* renegade, wanderer. * center of a target. 


IVANHOE. 


139 


men to each other ; ‘^such archery was never seen since a bow 
was first bent in Britain.” 

^^And now,” said Locksley, will crave your Grace’s per- 
mission to plant such a mark as is used in the North Coun- 
try ; and welcome every brave yeoman who shall try a shot 
at it to win a smile from the bonny lass he loves best.” 

He then turned to leave the lists. ^‘Let your guards attend 
me,” he said, you please — I go but to cut a rod from the 
next willow-bush.” 

Prince John made a signal that some attendants should 
follow him in case of his escape; but the cry of ^^Shame! 
shame!” which burst from the multitude, induced him to 
alter his ungenerous purpose. 

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand 
about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and rather thicker 
than a man’s thumb. He began to peel this with great com- 
posure, observing at the same time, that to ask a good woods- 
man to shoot at a target so broad as had hitherto been used, 
was to put shame upon his skill. ^‘For his own part,” he 
said, ^^and in the land where he was bred, men would as soon 
take for their mark King Arthur’s round-table,^ which held 
sixty knights around it. A child of seven years old,” he said, 
^^might hit yonder target with a headless shaft; but,” added 
he, walking deliberately to the other end of the lists, and 
sticking the willow wand upright in the ground, ^^he that 
hits that rod at five-score yards, I call him an archer fit to 
bear both bow and quiver before a king, an it were the stout 
King Richard himself.” 

^^My grandsire,” said Hubert, ^‘^drew a good bow at the 
battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark in his 
life — and neither will I. If this yeoman can cleave that rod, 
I give him the bucklers — or rather, I yield to the devil that is 
in his jerkin, and not to any human skill; a man can but 
do his best, and I will not shoot where I am sure to miss. 
I might as well shoot at the edge of our parson’s whittle,^ or 


1 The Round Table, famous in the 
Arthurian legends — which are woven 
with exquisite grace into Tennyson’s 
“Idylls of the King” — was for the 
entertainment of a select fraternity of 
knights. There are varying accounts of 


the founding of the Table, one of which 
ascribes it to King Arthur himself. All 
accounts unite in describing it as a center 
of a fellowship of valiant, pious and 
noble knights. 

2 a kind of jacket. 


140 


IVANHOE. 


at a wheat straw, or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white 
streak which I can hardly see/^ 

^^Cowardly dog!” said Prince John. ^^Sirrah Locksley, do 
thou shoot; but, if thou hittest such a mark, I will say thou 
art the first man ever did so. Howe’er it be, thou shalt not 
crow over us with a mere show of superior skill.” 

will do my best, as Hubert says,” answered Locksley; 
^^no man can do more.” 

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present occa- 
sion looked with attention to his weapon, and changed the 
string, which he thought was no longer truly round, having 
been a little frayed by the two former shots. He then took 
his aim with some deliberation, and the multitude awaited 
the event in breathless silence. The archer vindicated their 
opinion of his skill: his arrow split the willow rod against 
which it was aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed; 
and even Prince John, in admiration of Locksle/s skill, lost 
for an instant his dislike to his person. ^‘These twenty 
nobles,” he said, ‘Vhich, with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, 
are thine own; we will make them fifty, if thou wilt take 
livery and service with us as a yeoman of our body-guard, 
and be near to our person. For never did so strong a hand 
bend a bow, or so true an eye direct a shaft.” 

‘Tardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley; ‘^but I have 
vowed, that if ever I take service, it should be with your royal 
brother. King Eichard. These twenty nobles I leave to Hu- 
bert, who has this day drawn as brave a bow as his grandsire 
did at Hastings. Had his modesty not refused the trial, he 
would have hit the wand as well as I.” 

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance the 
bounty of the stranger, and Locksley, anxious to escape fur- 
ther observation, mixed with the crowd, and was seen no 
more. 

The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped 
John’s attention so easily, had not that Prince had other sub- 
jects of anxious and more important meditation pressing 
upon his mind at that instant. He called upon his chamber- 
lain as he gave the signal for retiring from the lists, and 
commanded him instantly to gallop to Ashby, and seek out 
Isaac the Jew. 'Tell the dog,” he said, "to send me, before 


IVANHOE. 


141 


sundown, two thousand crowns. He knows the security; but 
thou mayst show him this ring for a token. The rest of the 
money must be paid at York within six days. If he neglects, 
I will have the unbelieving villain^s head. Look that thou 
pass him not on the -way; for the circumcised slave was dis- 
playing his stolen finery amongst us.” 

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned to 
Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up and dispersing upon his 
retreat. 


CHAPTER XIV 

PRINCE JOHN’S BANQUET. SAXON GUESTS. THEIR DRESS AND MAN- 
NERS. THEIR TREATMENT BY THE NORMAN BANQUETERS. 
CEDRIC RETREATS WITH TRIUMPH. PRINCE JOHN’S ANXIETY. 

Prince J ohn held his high festival in the Castle of Ashby. 
This was not the same building of which the stately ruins still 
interest the traveller, and which was erected at a later period 
by the Lord Hastings, High Chamberlain of England, one 
of the first victims of the tyranny of Richard the Third, and 
yet better known as one of Shakespeare^s characters than by 
his historical fame. The castle and town of Ashby, at this 
time, belonged to Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester, who, 
during the period of our history, was absent in the Holy 
Land. Prince John, in the meanwhile, occupied his castle, 
and disposed of his domains without scruple; and seeking at 
present to dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality and magnifi- 
cence, had given orders for great preparations, in order to 
render the banquet as splendid as possible. 

The purveyors^ of the Prince, who exercised on this and 
other occasions the full authority of royalty, had swept the 
country of all that could be collected which was esteemed fit 
for their master’s table. Guests also were invited in great 
numbers; and in the necessity in which he then found him- 
self of courting popularity. Prince John had extended his 
invitation to a few distinguished Saxon and Danish families, 
as well as to the Herman nobility and gentry of the neighbour- 

* those having charge of providing food. 


142 


IVANHOE. 


hood. However despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, 
the great numbers of the Anglo-Saxons must necessarily ren- 
der them formidable in the civil commotions which seemed 
approaching, and it was an obvious point of policy to secure 
popularity with their leaders. 

It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he for 
some time maintained, to treat these unwonted guests with 
a courtesy to which they had been little accustomed. But 
although no man with less scruple made his ordinary habits 
and feelings bend to his interest, it was the misfortune of 
this Prince, that his levity and petulance were perpetually 
breaking out, and undoing all that had been gained by his 
previous dissimulation. 

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in Ire- 
land, when sent thither by his father, Henry the Second, 
with the purpose of buying golden opinions of the inhabitants 
of that new and important acquisition to the English crown. 
Upon this occasion the Irish chieftains contended which 
should first offer to the young Prince their loyal homage and 
the kiss of peace. But, instead of receiving their salutations 
with courtesy, John and his petulant attendants could not 
resist the temptation of pulling the long beards of the Irish 
chieftains; a conduct which, as might have been expected, 
was highly resented by these insulted dignitaries, and pro- 
duced fatal consequences to the English domination in Ire- 
land. It is necessary to keep these inconsistencies of John’s 
character in view, that the reader may understand his con- 
duct during the present evening. 

In execution of the resolution which he had formed during 
his cooler moments. Prince John received Cedric and Athel- 
stane with distinguished courtesy, and expressed his dis- 
appointment, without resentment, when the indisposition of 
Eowena was alleged by the former as a reason for her not 
attending upon his gracious summons. Cedric and Athel- 
stane were both dressed in the ancient Saxon garb, which, 
although not unhandsome in itself, and in the present in- 
stance composed of costly materials, was so remote in shape 
and appearance from that of the other guests, that Prince 
John took great credit to himself with Waldemar Eitzurse for 
refraining from laughter at a sight which the fashion of the 


IVANHOE. 


143 


day rendered ridiculous. Yet, in the eye of sober judgment, 
the short, close tunic and long mantle of the Saxons was a 
more graceful, as well as a more convenient dress, than the 
garb of the Normans, whose under garment was a long 
doublet, so loose as to resemble a shirt or wagoner’s frock, 
covered by a cloak of scanty dimensions, neither fit to defend 
the wearer from cold nor from rain, and the only purpose of 
which appeared to be to display as much fur, embroidery, and 
jewelery work as the ingenuity of the tailor could contrive 
to lay upon it. The Emperor Charlemagne, in whose reign 
they were first introduced, seems to have been very sensible 
of the inconveniences arising from the fashion of this gar- 
ment. ^Tn Heaven’s name,” said he, ^To what purpose serve 
these abridged cloaks? If we are in bed they are no cover, 
on horseback they are no protection from the wind and rain, 
and when seated, they do not guard our legs from the damp 
or the frost.” 

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the short 
cloaks continued in fashion down to the time of which we 
treat, and particularly among the princes of the House of 
Anjou.^ They were therefore in universal use among Prince 
John’s courtiers; and the long mantle, which formed the 
upper garment of the Saxons, was held in proportional 
derision. 

The guests were seated at a table which groaned under the 
quantity of good cheer. The numerous cooks who attended 
on the Prince’s progress, having exerted all their art in 
varying the forms in which the ordinary provisions were 
served up, had succeeded almost as well as the modern pro- 
fessors of the culinary art in rendering»them perfectly unlike 
their natural appearance. Besides these dishes of domestic 
origin, there were various delicacies brought from foreign 
parts, and a quantity of rich pastry, as well as of the simnel- 
bread^ and wastel cakes, which were only used at the tables of 
the highest nobility. The banquet was crowned with the 
richest wines, both foreign and domestic. 

* Henry II. was a son of Geoffrey, was borne by fourteen English kings. 
Count of Anjou, and Matilda, daughter 2 Simnel-bread and wastel-cakes seem 
of Henry I. Geoffrey, who wore a sprig to have been made from the finest wheat 
of broom (vlant de genet) in his cap, first flour, bread used by the masses being 
adopted the surname Plantagenet which made from more coarsely ground cereals. 


144 


IVANHOE. 


But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not, gen- 
erally speaking, an intemperate race. While indulging them- 
selves in the pleasures of the table, they aimed at delicacy, 
but avoided excess, and were apt to attribute gluttony and 
drunkenness to the vanquished Saxons, as vices peculiar to 
their inferior station. Prince John, indeed, and those who 
courted his pleasure by imitating his foibles, were apt to 
indulge to excess in the pleasures of the trencher and the 
goblet; and indeed it is well known that his death was occa- 
sioned by a surfeit upon peaches' and new ale. His conduct, 
however, was an exception to the general manners of his 
countrymen. 

With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs to each 
other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld the ruder de- 
meanor of Athelstane and Cedric at a banquet, to the form and 
fashion of which they were unaccustomed. And while their 
manners were thus the subject of sarcastic observation, the 
untaught Saxons unwittingly transgressed several of the arbi- 
trary rules established for the regulation of society. Now, it 
is well known, that a man may with more impunity be guilty 
of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good 
morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of 
fashionable etiquette. Thus Cedric, who dried his hands 
with a towel, instead of suffering the moisture to exhale by 
waving them gracefully in the air, incurred more ridicule 
than his companion Athelstane, when he swallowed to his 
own single share the whole of a large pasty composed of the 
most exquisite foreign delicacies, and termed at that time 
a Karum-pie. When, however, it was discovered, by a seri- 
ous cross-examination, that the Thane of Coningsburgh (or 
Franklin, as the Normans termed him) had no idea what he 
had been devouring, and that he had taken the contents of 
the Karum-pie for larks and pigeons, whereas they were in 
fact beccaficoes^ and nightingales, his ignorance brought him 
in for an ample share of the ridicule which would have been 
more justly bestowed on his gluttony. 

The long feast had at length its end ; and, while the goblet 
circulated freely, men talked of the feats of the preceding 
tournament — of the unknown victor in the archery games, 

I a kind of small birds which were accounted a great delicacy. 


IVANHOE. 


145 


of the Black Knight, whose self-denial had induced him to 
withdraw from the honours he had won — and of the gallant 
Ivanhoe, who had so dearly bought the honours of the day. 
The topics were treated with military frankness, and the jest 
and laugh went round the hall. The brow of Prince John 
alone was over-clouded during these discussions; some over- 
powering care seemed agitating his mind, and it was only 
when he received occasional hints from his attendants that 
he seemed to take interest in what was passing around him. 
On such occasions he would start up, quaff a cup of wine 
as if to raise his spirits, and then mingle in the conversa- 
tion by some observation made abruptly or at random. 

“We drink this beaker,^^ said he, “to the health of Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe, champion of this Passage of Arms, and grieve 
that his wound renders him absent from our board. Let all 
fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric of Eotherwood, the 
worthy father of a son so promising.” 

“No, my lord,” replied Cedric, standing up, and placing on 
the table his untasted cup, “I yield not the name of son to the 
disobedient youth, who at onces despises my commands, and 
relinquishes the manners and customs of his fathers.” 

“ ^Tis impossible,” cried Prince John, with well-feigned 
astonishment, “that so gallant a knight should be an un- 
worthy or disobedient son!” 

“Yet, my lord,” answered Cedric, “so it is with this Wil- 
fred. He left my homely dwelling to mingle with the gay 
nobility of your brothers court, where he learned to do those 
tricks of horsemanship which you prize so highly. He left 
it contrary to my wish and command; and in the days of 
Alfred that would have been termed disobedience — ay, and 
a crime severely punishable.” 

“Alas!” replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of affected 
sympathy, “since your son was a follower of my unhappy 
brother, it need not be inquired where or from whom he 
learned the lesson of filial disobedience.” 

Thus spake Prince J ohn, wilfully forgetting, that of all the 
sons of Henry the Second, though no one was free from the 
charge, he himself had been most distinguished for rebellion 
and ingratitude to his father. 

“I think,” said he after a moment’s pause, “that my brother 


146 


IVANHOE. 


proposed to confer upon his favourite the rich manor of 
Ivanhoe/^ 

‘‘He did endow him with it,” answered Cedric; “nor is it 
my least quarrel with my son, that he stooped to hold, as a 
feudal vassal, the very domains which his fathers possessed 
in free and independent right.” 

“We shall then have your willing sanction, good Cedric,” 
said Prince John, “to confer this fief upon a person whose 
dignity will not be diminished by holding land of the British 
crown. Sir Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,” he said, turning to- 
ward that Baron, “1 trust you will so keep the goodly Barony 
of Ivanhoe, that Sir Wilfred shall not incur his father’s far- 
ther displeasure by again entering upon that fief.” 

“By St. Anthony!” answered the black-b row’d giant, “I 
will consent that your highness shall hold me a Saxon, if 
either Cedric or Wilfred, or the best that ever bore English 
blood, shall wrench from me the gift with which your High- 
ness has graced me.” 

“Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,” replied Cedric, 
offended at a mode of expression by which the Normans fre- 
quently expressed their habitual contempt of the English, 
“will do thee an honour as great as it is undeserved.” 

Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince John’s petu- 
lance and levity got the start. 

“Assuredly,” said he, “my lords, the noble Cedric speaks 
truth; and his race may claim precedence over us as much 
in the length of their pedigrees as the longitude of their 
cloaks.” 

“They go before us indeed in the field — as deer before 
dogs,” said Malvoisin. 

“And with good right may they go before us — forget not,” 
said the Prior Aymer, “the superior decency and decorum of 
their manners.” 

“Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,” said De 
Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised him a Saxon bride. 

“Together with the courage and conduct,” said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, “by which they distinguished themselves at 
Hastings and elsewhere.” 

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, each 
in turn, followed their Prince’s example, and aimed a shaft 


IVANHOE. 


147 


of ridicule at Cedric, the face of the Saxon became inflamed 
with passion, and he glanced his eyes fiercely from one to 
another, as if the quick succession of so many injuries had 
prevented his replying to them in turn ; or, like a baited bull, 
who, surrounded by his tormentors, is at a loss to choose from 
among them the immediate object of his revenge. At length 
he spoke, in a voice half choked with passion; and, address- 
ing himself to Prince John as the head and front of the 
offence which he had received, ^‘Whatever,^^ he said, ^‘have 
been the follies and vices of our race, a Saxon would have 
been held nidering/'^ (the most emphatic term for abject 
worthlessness) "who should in his own hall, and while his 
own wine-cup passed, have treated, or suffered to be treated, 
an unoffending guest as your Highness has this day beheld 
me used; and whatever was the misfortune of our fathers 
on the field of Hastings, those may at least be silent,” here he 
looked at Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar, "who have within 
these few hours once and again lost saddle and stirrup before 
the lance of a Saxon.” 

"By my faith, a biting jest!”^ said Prince John. "How 
like you it, sirs? — Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and 
courage; become shrewd in wit, and bold in bearing, in these 
unsettled times. — What say ye, my lords ? — By this good light, 
I hold it best to take our galleys, and return to Normandy 
in time.” 

"For fear of the Saxons?” said De Bracy, laughing; "we 
should need no weapon but our hunting spears to bring these 
boars to bay.” 

"A truce with your raillery. Sir Knights,” said Fitzurse ; — 
"and it were well,” he added, addressing the Prince, "that 
your Highness should assure the worthy Cedric there is no 
insult intended him by jests, which must sound but harshly 
in the ear of a stranger.” 

"Insult?” answered Prince John, resuming his courtesy of 
demeanour ; "I trust it will not be thought that I could mean, 
or permit any, to be offered in my presence. Here! I fill 
my cup to Cedric himself, since he refuses to pledge his son’s 
health.” 

* Scott says nothing was considered Cedric and his Saxon friends appear to 
so ignominious among the Saxons as to much better advantage than the Nor- 
merit this disgraceful epithet. mans do. 

*The “biting jest” was well merited. 


148 


IVANHOE. 


The cup went round amid the well-dissembled applause of 
the courtiers^ which, however, failed to make the impression 
on the mind of the Saxon that had been designed. He was 
not naturally acute of perception, but those too much under- 
valued his understanding who deemed that this flattering 
compliment would obliterate the sense of the prior insult. 

He was silent, however, when the royal pledge again passed 
round, ‘^To Sir Athelstane of Coningsburgh.” 

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense of 
the honour by draining a huge goblet in answer to it. 

^^And now, sirs,” said Prince J ohn, who began to be 
warmed with the wine which he had drunk, “having done 
justice to our Saxon guests, we will pray of them some* 
requital to our courtesy. — Worthy Thane,” he continued, 
addressing Cedric, “may we pray you to name to us some 
Norman whose mention may least sully your mouth, and to 
wash down with a goblet of wine all bitterness which the 
sound may leave behind it?” 

Pitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding be- 
hind the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to omit the 
opportunity of putting an end to unkindness betwixt the two 
races, by naming Prince J ohn. The Saxon replied not to this 
politic insinuation, but, rising up, and Ailing his cup to the 
brim, he addressed Prince John in these words: “Your High- 
ness has required that I should name a Norman deserving 
to be remembered at our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard 
task, since it calls on the slave to sing the praises of the 
master — ^upon the vanquished, while pressed by all the evils 
of conquest, to sing the praises of the conqueror. Yet I will 
name a Norman — the first in arms and in place — the best and 
the noblest of his race. And the lips that shall refuse to 
pledge me to his well-earned fame, I term false and dishon- 
oured, and will so maintain them with my life. I quaff this 
goblet to the health of Eichard the Lion-Hearted !” 

Prince John, who had expected that his own name would 
have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when that of his in- 
jured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. He raised 
mechanically the wine-cup to his lips, then instantly set it 
down, to view the demeanour of the company at this unex- 
pected proposal, which many of them felt it as unsafe to 


IVANHOE. 


149 


oppose as to comply with. Some of them, ancient and ex- 
perienced courtiers, closely imitated the example of the Prince 
himself, raising the goblet to their lips, and again replacing 
it before them. There were many who, with a more generous 
feeling, exclaimed, ^‘Long live King Eichard ! and may he be 
speedily restored to us And some few, among whom were 
Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain suffered 
their goblets to stand untasted before them. But no man 
ventured directly to gainsay a pledge filled to the health ofi 
the reigning monarch. 

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute, Cedric 
said to his companion, ^^IJp, noble Athelstane! we have re- 
mained here long enough, since we have requited the hos- 
pitable courtesy of Prince John’s banquet. Those who wish 
to know further of our rude Saxon manners must hence- 
forth seek us in the homes of our fathers, since we have seen 
enough of royal banquets, and enough of Norman courtesy.” 

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting room, followed 
by Athelstane and by several other guests, who, partaking of 
the Saxon lineage, held themselves insulted by the sarcasms of 
Prince John and his courtiers. 

^^By the bones of St. Thomas,”^ said Prince John as they 
retreated, ^The Saxon churls have borne ofi the best of the- 
day, and have retreated with triumph !” 

''Conclamatum est, poculatum est/' said Prior Aymer ; ^ Ve 
have drunk and we have shouted, — it were time we left our 
wine flagons.” 

^^The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to-night, that 
he is in such a hurry to depart,” said He Bracy. 

^^Not so. Sir Knight,” replied the Abbot; ^^but I must 
move several miles forward this evening upon my homeward 
journey.” 

^^They are breaking up,” said the Prince in a whisper to 
Fitzurse; ^Their fears anticipate the event, and this coward 
Prior is the first to shrink from me.” 

^^Fear not, my lord,” said Waldemar; “I will show him 
such reasons as shall induce him to join us when we hold 
our meeting at York. — Sir Prior,” he said, H must speak 
with you in private, before you mount your palfrey.” 

1 St. Thomas Aquinas, a celebrated divine (1227-1274). 


150 


IVANHOE. 


The other guests were now fast dispersing, with the excep- 
tion of those immediately attached to Prince John^s faction, 
and his retinue. 

^This, then, is the result of your advice,^^ said the Prince, 
turning an angry countenance upon Fitzurse; ^That I should 
be bearded at my own board by a drunken Saxon churl, and 
that, on the mere sound of my brother’s name, men should 
fall off from me as if I had the leprosy 

^^Have patience, sir,” replied his counselor ; might retort 
your accusation, and blame the inconsiderate levity which 
foiled my design, and misled your own better judgment. But 
this is no time for recrimination. De Bracy and I will in- 
stantly go among these shuffling cowards, and convince them 
they have gone too far to recede.” 

^Tt will be in vain,” said Prince John, pacing the apart- 
ment with disordered steps, and expressing himself with an 
agitation to which the wine he had drank partly contributed — 
^Tt will be in vain — they have seen the handwriting on the 
walP — they have marked the paw of the lion in the sand — they 
have heard his approaching roar shake the wood — nothing 
will reanimate their courage.” 

^^Would to God,” said Fitzurse to De Bracy, ^That aught 
^ould reanimate his own! His brother’s very name is an 
ague to him. Unhappy are the counselors of a Prince, who 
wants fortitude and perseverance alike in good and in evil!” 


CHAPTER XV 

PRINCE JOHN’S CABAL. DE BRACY ’S “MUMMERY.” 

Xo spider ever took more pains to repair the shattered 
meshes of his web, than did Waldemar Fitzurse to reunite 
and combine the scattered members of Prince John’s cabal.^ 
Few of these were attached to him from inclination, and none 
from personal regard. It was therefore necessary that Fitz- 
urse should open to them new prospects of advantage, and 

J Daniel v: 5, 25-31. 

2 a number of persons united for political intrigues. 


IVANHOE. 


151 


remind them of those which they at present enjoyed. To the 
young and wild nobles he held out the prospect of unpun- 
ished license and uncontrolled revelry; to the ambitious, that 
of power, and to the covetous, that of increased wealth and 
extended domains. The leaders of the mercenaries^ received a 
donation in gold; an argument the most persuasive to their 
minds, and without which all others would have proved in 
vain. Promises were still more liberally distributed than 
money by this active agent; and, in fine, nothing was left 
undone that could determine the wavering, or animate the 
disheartened. The return of King Richard he spoke of as 
an event altogether beyond the reach of probability; yet, 
when he observed, from the doubtful looks and uncertain 
answers which he received, that this was the apprehension by 
which the minds of his accomplices were most haunted, he 
boldly treated that event, should it really take place, as one 
which ought not to alter their political calculations. 

‘Tf Richard returns,” said Fitzurse, ‘‘he returns to enrich 
his needy and impoverished crusaders at the expense of those 
who did not follow him to the Holy Land. He returns to 
call to a fearful reckoning, those who, during his absence, 
have done aught that can be construed offence or encroach- 
ment upon either the laws of the land or the privileges of the 
crown. He returns to avenge upon the Orders of the Tem- 
ple and the Hospital, the preference which they showed to 
Philip of France during the wars in the Holy Land. He 
returns, in fine, to punish as a rebel every adherent of his- 
brother Prince John. Are ye afraid of his power?” con- 
tinued the artful confidant of that Prince; “we acknowledge 
him a strong and valiant knight ; but these are not the days- 
of King Arthur, when a champion could encounter an army. 
If Richard indeed comes back, it must be alone — ^unfollowed — 
unfriended. The bones of his gallant army have whitened 
the sands of Palestine. The few of his followers who have 
returned have straggled hither like this Wilfred of Ivanho 
beggared and broken men. And what talk ye of Richarc 
right of birth?” he proceeded, in answer to those who obje 
scruples on that head. “Is Richard’s title of primoger 
more decidedly certain than that of Duke Robert of 

1 soldiers who let out their services to the highest bidder; Free 
Free Lances. 


152 


IVANHOE. 


dy, the Conqueror’s eldest son? And yet William the Ked, 
and Henry, his second and third brothers, were successively 
preferred to him by the voice of the nation. Eobert had 
every merit which can be pleaded for Eichard ; he was a bold 
knight, a good leader, generous to his friends and to the 
church, and, to crown the whole, a crusader and a conqueror 
of the Holy Sepulcher ; and yet he died a blind and miserable 
prisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because he opposed himself 
to the will of the people, who chose that he should not rule 
over them. It is our right,” he said, ^^to choose from the 
blood royal the prince who is best qualified to hold the 
supreme power — that is,” said he, correcting himself, ^^him 
whose election will best promote the interests of the nobility. 
In. personal qualifications,” he added, ^fit was possible that 
Prince John might be inferior to his brother Eichard, but 
when it was considered that the latter returned with the 
sword of vengeance in his hand, while the former held out 
rewards, immunities, privileges, wealth and honours, it could 
not be doubted which was the king whom in wisdom the 
nobility were called on to support.” 

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to the 
peculiar circumstances of those whom he addressed, had the 
expected weight with the nobles of Prince John’s faction. 
Most of them consented to attend the proposed meeting at 
York, for the purpose of making general arrangements for 
placing the crown upon the head of Prince John. 

It was late at night, when, worn out and exhausted with 
his various exertions however gratified with the result, Pitz- 
urse, returning to the Castle of Ashby, met with He Bracy, 
who had exchanged his banqueting garments for a short 
green kirtle, with hose of the same cloth and colour, a leathern 
cap or headpiece, a short sword, a horn slung over his shoul- 
der, a long bow in his hand, and a bundle of arrows stuck in 
his belt. Had Pitzurse met this figure in an outer apartment, 
e would have passed him without notice, as one of the 
5>men of the guard; but finding him in the inner hall, he 
■ed at him with more attention, and recogilized the Nor- 
knight in the dress of an English yeoman. 

'at mummery is this, De Bracy?” said Pitzurse, some- 
igrily; ‘fis this a time for Christmas gambols and 


IVANHOE. 


153 


quaint maskings, when the fate of our master, Prince John, 
is on the very verge of decision? Why hast thou not been, 
like me, among these heartless cravens, whom the very name 
of King Eichard terrifies, as it is said to do the children of 
the Saracens?” 

have been attending to mine own business,” answered 
De Bracy calmly, ^^as you, Fitzurse, have been minding 
yours.” 

^‘1 minding mine own business!” echoed Waldemar; 
have been engaged in that of Prince John, our joint patron.” 

^^As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Waldemar,” 
said De Bracy, ^^than the promotion of thine own individual 
interest? Come, Fitzurse, we know each other — ambition is 
thy pursuit, pleasure is mine, and they become our different 
ages. Of Prince John thou thinkest as I do; that he is too 
weak to be a determined monarch, too tyrannical to be an 
easy monarch, too insolent and presumptuous to be a popular 
monarch, and too fickle and timid to be long a monarch of 
any kind. But he is a monarch by whom Fitzurse and 
De Bracy hope to rise and thrive ; and therefore you aid him 
with your policy, and I with the lances of my Free Com- 
panions.” 

“A hopeful auxiliary,” said Fitzurse impatiently; ^^playing 
the fool in the very moment of utter necessity. What on 
earth dost thou purpose by this absurd disguise at a moment 
so urgent?” 

^^To get me a wife,” answei^d De Bracy coolly, ‘^after the 
manner of the tribe of Benjamin.” 

‘^The tribe of Benjamin?” said Fitzurse; comprehend 
thee not.” 

^^Wert thou not in presence yester-even,” said De Bracy, 
^Vhen we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply to 
the romance which was sung by the Minstrel? He told how, 
long since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose between the tribe 
of Benjamin and the rest of the Israelitish nation; and how 
they cut to pieces well nigh all the chivalry of that tribe : 
and how they swore by our blessed Lady, that they woul 
not permit those who remained to marry in their lineag 
and how they became grieved for their vow, and sent to r 
suit his holiness the Pope how they might be absolved 


154 


IVANHOE. 


it; and how, by the advice of the Holy Father, the youth of 
the tribe of Benjamin carried off from a superb tournament 
all the ladies who were there present, and thus won them 
wives without the consent either of their brides or their brides^ 
families/^ 

have heard the story,’^ said Fitzurse, “though either the 
Prior or thou hast made some singular alterations in date and 
circumstances/^ 

“I tell thee,^^ said De Bracy, “that I mean to purvey me a 
wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; which is as 
much as to say, that in this same equipment I will fall upon 
that herd of Saxon bullocks, who have this night left the 
castle, and carry oft from them the lovely Eowena.” 

“Art thou mad, De Bracy said Fitzurse. “Bethink thee 
that, though the men be Saxons, they are rich and powerful 
and regarded with the more respect by their countrymen, that 
wealth and honour are but the lot of few of Saxon descent.^^ 
“And should belong to none,^^ said De Bracy; “the work of 
the Conquest should be completed.^^ 

“This is no time for it at least,’^ said Fitzurse; “the ap- 
proaching crisis renders the favour of the multitude indis- 
pensable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice to any one 
who injures their favourites.^^ 

“Let him grant it, if he dare,” said De Bracy ; “he will soon 
see the difference betwixt the support of such a lusty lot of 
spears as mine, and that of a heartless mob of Saxon churls. 
Yet I mean no immediate discovery of myself. Seem I not 
in this garb as bold a forester as ever blew horn ? The blame 
of the violence shall rest with the outlaws of the Yorkshire 
forests. I have sure spies on the Saxons’ motions. To-night 
they sleep in the convent of St. Wittol, or Withold, or what- 
ever they call that churl of a Saxon saint at Burton-on-Trent. 
Next day’s march brings them within our reach, and, falcon- 
ways, we swoop on them at once. Presently after I will 
appear in mine own shape, play the courteous knight, rescue 
the unfortunate and afflicted fair one from the hands of the 
Tide ravishers, conduct her to Front-de-Boeuf’s Castle, or to 
ormandy, if it should be necessary, and produce her not 
in to her kindred until she be the bride and dame of 
•ice de Bracy.” 


IVANHOE. 


155 


marvelously sage plan/^^ said Fitzurse, ^^and, as I think, 
not entirely of thine own device. Come, be frank, De Bracy, 
who aided thee in the invention? and who is to assist in the 
execution? for, as I think, thine own band lies as far off as 
York.^^ 

‘^Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy, ^^it was 
the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out the 
enterprise, which the adventure of the men of Benjamin sug- 
gested to me. He is to aid me in the onslaught, and he and 
his followers will personate the outlaws, from whom my 
valorous arm is, after changing my garb, to rescue the lady.” 

‘^By my halidom,” said Fitzurse, ^The plan was worthy of 
your united wisdom! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is most 
especially manifested in the project of leaving the lady in the 
hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou mayst, I think, suc- 
•ceed in taking her from her Saxon friends^ but how thou 
wilt rescue her afterwards from the clutches of Bois-Guilbert 
seems considerably more doubtful. He is a falcon well accus- 
tomed to pounce on a partridge, and to hold his prey fast.” 

‘^He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, ^^and cannot therefore 
rival me in my plan of wedding this heiress ; and to attempt 
nught dishonourable against the intended wife of De Bracy — 
By Heaven ! were he a whole chapter of his order in his sin- 
gle person, he dared not do me such an injury!” 

^Then since naught that I can say,” said Fitzurse, ^Vill 
put this folly from thy imagination (for well I know the 
obstinacy of thy disposition), at least waste as little time as 
possible — let not thy folly be lasting as well as untimely.” 

‘T tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “that it will be the work 
of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the head of my 
daring and valorous fellows, as ready to support any bold 
design as thy policy can be to form one. But I hear my 
comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping and neighing 
in the outer court. — Farewell. — I go, like a true knight, to win 
the smiles of beauty.” 

“Like a true knight?” repeated Fitzurse, looking after 
him; “like a fool, I should say, or like a child, who will 
leave the most serious and needful occupation to chase thf 
down of the thistle that drives past him. But is it with sue’ 

• What was De Bracy’s nefarious "plan”? Whom did he propose to kidnap 


IVANHOE. 


^ 156 

tools that I must work; — and for whose advantage? — For that 
of a Prince as unwise as he is profligate, and as likely to be 
an ungrateful master as he has already proved a rebellious 
son and an unnatural brother. — But he — he, too, is but one 
of the tools with which I labour; and, proud as he is, should 
he presume to separate his interest from mine, this is a 
secret which he shall soon learn.^^ 

The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted 
by the voice of the Prince from an interior apartment, call- 
ing out, ^‘Noble Waldemar Fitzurse!’^ and, with bonnet 
doffed, the future Chancellor (for to such high preferment 
did the wily Norman aspire) hastened to receive the orders 
of the future sovereign. 


CHAPTEE XVI 

THE BLACK KNIGHT IN THE WOODS AND AT THE HERMITAGE. THE 
GENIAL HERMIT. THE MINSTRELSY OF THE KNIGHT AND THE 
HERMIT. 

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the tour- 
nament was decided by the exertions of an unknown knight, 
whom, on account of the passive and indifferent conduct which 
he had manifested on the former part of the day, the specta- 
tors had entitled, Le Noir Faineant. This knight had left 
the field abruptly when the victory was achieved; and when 
he was called upon to receive the reward of his valour, he was 
nowhere to be found. In the meantime, while summoned by 
heralds and by trumpets, the knight was holding his course 
northward, avoiding all frequented paths, and taking the 
shortest road through the woodlands. He paused for the 
night at a small hostelry lying out of the ordinary route, 
where, however, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news 
of the event of the tourney. 

On the next morning the knight departed early, with the 
intention of making a long journey; the condition of his 
horse, which he had carefully spared during the preceding 
morning, being such as enabled him to travel far without the 
Bcessity of much repose. Yet his purpose was baffled by the 
^ious paths through which he rode, so that when evening 


IVANHOE. 


157 


closed upon him, he only found himself on the frontiers of 
the West Eiding of Yorkshire. By this time both horse and 
man required refreshment, and it became necessary, moreover, 
to look out for some place in which they might spend the 
night, which was now fast approaching. 

The place where the traveller found himself seemed un- 
propitious for obtaining either shelter or refreshment, and he 
was likely to be reduced to the usual expedient of knights- 
errant, who, on such occasions, turned their horses to graze, 
and laid themselves down to meditate on their lady-mistress, 
with an oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knight either 
had no mistress to meditate upon, or, being as indifferent in 
love as he seemed to be in war, was not sufficiently occupied 
by passionate reflections upon her beauty and cruelty, to be 
able to parry the effects of fatigue and hunger, and suffer 
love to act as a substitute for the solid comforts of a bed and 
supper. He felt dissatisfied, therefore, when, looking around, 
he found himself deeply involved in woods, through which 
indeed there were many open glades, and some paths, but 
such as seemed only formed by the numerous herds of cattle 
which grazed in the forest, or by the animals of chase, and 
the hunters who made prey of them. 

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his 
course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his left, 
and every effort which he might make to pursue his journey 
was as likely to lead him out of his road as to advance him 
on his route. After having in vain endeavoured to select the 
most beaten path, in hopes it might lead to the cottage of 
some herdsman, or the silvan lodge of a forester, and having 
repeatedly found himself totally unable to determine on a 
choice, the knight resolved to trust to the sagacity of his 
horse; experience having, on former occasions, made him 
acquainted with the wonderful talent possessed by these ani- 
mals for extricating themselves and their riders on such 
emergencies. 

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a day’s 
journey under a rider cased in mail, had no sooner found, by 
the slackened reins, that he was abandoned to his own guid- 
ance, than he seemed to assume new strength and spiri 
and whereas formerly he had scarce replied to the spur, otf 


158 


IVANHOE. 


wise than by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confidence 
reposed in him, pricked np his ears, and assumed, of his own 
accord, a more lively motion. The path which the animal 
adopted rather turned off from the course pursued by the 
knigEt during the day; but as the horse seemed conhdent in 
his choice the rider abandoned himself to his discretion. 

He was justified by the event; for the footpath soon after 
appeared a little wider and more worn, and the tinkle of a 
small bell gave the knight to understand that he was in the 
vicinity of some chapel or hermitage. 

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on the 
opposite side of which, a rock, rising abruptly from a gently 
sloping plain, offered its gray and weatherbeaten front to the 
traveller. Ivy mantled its sides in some places, and in others 
oaks and holly bushes, whose roots found nourishment in the 
cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below, like the 
plumage of the warrior over his steel helmet, giving grace to 
that whose chief expression was terror. At the bottom of the 
rock, and leaning, as it were, against it, was constructed a 
rude hut, built chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the 
neighbouring forest, and secured against the weather by having 
its crevices stuffed with moss mingled with clay. The stem 
of a young fir-tree lopped of its branches, with a piece of 
wood tied across near the top, was planted upright by the 
•door, as a rude emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance 
on the right hand, a fountain of the purest water trickled out 
of the rock, and was received in a hollow stone, which labour 
had formed into a rustic basin. Escaping fiiom thence, the. 
stream murmured down the descent by a channel which its 
course had long worn, and so wandered through the little 
plain to lose itself in the neighbouring wood. 

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small chapel,, 
of which the roof had partly fallen in. The building, when 
entire, had never been above sixteen feet long by twelve feet 
in breadth, and the roof, low in proportion, rested upon four 
•concentric arches which sprung from the four corners of the 
building, each supported upon a short and heavy pillar. The 
Hbs of two of these arches remained, though the roof had 

lien down betwixt them ; over the others it remained entire, 
e entrance to this ancient place of devotion was under a 


IVANHOE. 


159 


very low round arch, ornamented by several courses of that 
zig-zag moulding, resembling shark^s teeth, which appears so 
often in the more ancient Saxon architecture. A belfry rose 
above the porch on four small pillars, within which hung the 
green and weatherbeaten bell, the feeble sounds of which had 
been some time before heard hj the Black Knight. 

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in twi- 
light before the eyes of the traveller, giving him good assur- 
ance of lodging for the night; since it was a special duty of 
those hermits who dwelt in the woods, to exercise hospitality 
towards benighted and bewildered passengers. 

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider minutely 
the particulars which we have detailed, but thanking St. 
Julian (the patron of travellers) who had sent him good har- 
bourage, he leaped from his horse and assailed the door of the 
hermitage with the butt of his lance, in order to arouse atten- 
tion and gain admittance. 

It was some time before he obtained any answer, and the 
reply, when made, was unpropitious. 

^^Pass on, whosoever thou art,” was the answer given by a 
deep, hoarse voice from within the hut, ^^and disturb not the 
servant of God and St. Dunstan in his evening devotions.” 

^^Worthy father,” answered the knight, ^^here is a poor wan- 
derer bewildered in these woods, who gives thee the oppor- 
tunity of exercising thy charity and hospitality.” 

‘^Good brother,” replied the inhabitant of the hermitage, 
^^it has pleased Our Lady and St. Dunstan to destine me for 
the object of those virtues, instead of the exercise thereof. I 
have no provisions here which even a dog would share with 
me, and a horse of any tenderness of nurture would despise 
my couch — pass therefore on thy way, and God speed thee.” 

^^But how,” replied the knight, ^^is it possible for me to find 
my way through such a wood as this, when darkness is com- 
ing on ? I pray you, reverend father, as you are a Christian, 
to undo your door, and at least point out to me my road.” 

^^And I pray you, good Christian brother,” replied the 
anchorite,^ ^To disturb me no more. You have already inter- 
rupted one pater, two aves, and a credo, ^ which I, miserable 

* one who has withdrawn from the kinds of prayers. By telling the bear' 
world; a hermit. on a rosary, a reckoning is sometin 

2 These words designate three different kept of prayers. 


160 


IVANHOE. 


sinner that I am, should, according to my vow, have said 
before moonrise/^ 

^^llhe road — the road vociferated the knight, ^^give me 
directions for the road, if I am to expect no more from thee.” 

^^The road,” replied the hermit, ^^is easy to hit. The path 
from the wood leads to a morass, and from thence to a ford, 
which, as the rains have abated, may now be passable. When 
thou hast crossed the ford, thou wilt take care of thy footing 
up the left bank, as it is somewhat precipitous ; and the path, 
which hangs over the river, has lately, as I learn (for I seldom 
leave the duties of my chapel), given way in sundry places. 
Thou wilt then keep straight forward — ” 

broken path — a precipice — a ford, and a morass !” said 
the knight, interrupting him. ^^Sir Hermit, if you were the 
holiest that ever wore beard or told bead, you shall scarce 
prevail on me to hold this road to-night. I tell thee, that 
thou, who livest by the charity of the country — ill-deserved, 
as I doubt it is — hast no right to refuse shelter to the way- 
farer when in distress. Either open the door quickly, or, by 
the rood, I will beat it down and make entry for myself.” 

^Triend wayfarer,” replied the hermit, ^d)e not importu- 
nate ; if thou puttest me to use the carnal weapon in mine own 
defence, it will be e’en the worse for you.” 

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growling, 
which the traveller had for some time heard, became extremely 
loud and furious, and made the knight suppose that the 
hermit, alarmed by his threat of making forcible entry, had 
called the dogs who made this clamour to aid him in his 
defence, out of some inner recess in which they had been 
kennelled. Incensed at this preparation on the hermit’s part 
for making good his inhospitable purpose, the knight struck 
the door so furiously with his foot that posts as well as 
staples shook with violence. 

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to a 
similar shock, now called out aloud, ^Tatience, patience — 
spare thy strength, good traveller, and I will presently undo 
the door, though, it may be, my doing so will be little to thy 
pleasure.” 

The door accordingly was opened ; and the hermit, a large, 

rong-built man, in his sack-cloth gown and hood, girt with 


IVANHOE. 


161 


a rope of rushes, stood before the knight. He had in one 
hand a lighted torch, or link, and in the other a baton of 
crab-tree, so thick and heavy, that it might well be termed 
a club. Two large, shaggy dogs, half greyhound, half mastiff, 
stood ready to rush upon the traveller as soon as the door 
should be opened. But when the torch glanced upon the lofty 
crest and golden spurs of the knight, who stood without, the 
hermit, altering probably his original intentions, repressed 
the rage of his auxiliaries, and, changing his tone to a sort 
of churlish courtesy, invited the knight to enter his hut, mak- 
ing excuse for his unwillingness to open his lodge after sun- 
set, by alleging the multitude of robbers and outlaws who 
were abroad, and who gave no honour to Our Lady of St. 
Dunstan, nor to those holy men who spent life in their service. 

“The poverty of your cell, good father,” said the knight, 
looking around him, and seeing nothing but a bed of leaves, 
a crucifix rudely carved in oak, a missal,^ with a rough-hewn 
table and two stools, and one or two clumsy articles of furni- 
ture — “the poverty of your cell should seem a sufficient de- 
fence against any risk of thieves, not to mention the aid of 
two trusty dogs, large and strong enough, I think, to pull 
down a stag, and, of course, to match with most men.” 

“The good keeper of the forest,” said the hermit, “hath 
allowed me the use of these animals, to protect my solitude 
until the times shall mend.” 

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted branch of 
iron which served for a candlestick; and, placing the oaken 
trivet^ before the embers of the fire, which he refreshed with 
some dry wood, he placed a stool upon one side of the table, 
and beckoned to the knight to do the same upon the other. 

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each other, 
each thinking in his heart that he had seldom seen a stronger 
or more athletic figure than was placed opposite to him. 

“Eeverend hermit,” said the knight, after looking long 
and fixedly at his host, “were it not to interrupt your devout 
meditations, I would pray to know three things of your holi- 
ness; first, where I am to put my horse? secondly, what I 
can have for supper? thirdly, where I am to take up my 
couch for the night?” 

1 Roman Catholic prayer book. 2 g, three-legged table. 


162 


IVANHOE. 


will reply to you/’ said the hermit, ^Vith my finger, it 
being against my rule to speak by words where si^s can 
answer the purpose.” So saying, he pointed successively to 
two corners of the hut. ^^Your stable,” said he, ^fis there — 
your bed there ; and,” reaching down a platter with two hand- 
fuls of parched pease upon it from the neighbouring shelf, 
and placing it upon the table, he added, ^‘^your supper is here.” 

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the hut, 
brought in his horse (which in the interim he had fastened 
to a tree), unsaddled him with much attention, and spread 
upon the steed’s weary back his own mantle. 

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to compassion 
by the anxiety as well as address which the stranger displayed 
in tending his horse ; for, muttering something about proven- 
der left for the keeper’s palfrey, he dragged out of a recess a 
bundle of forage, which he spread before the knight’s charger, 
and immediately afterward shook down a quantity of dried 
fern in the corner which he had assigned for the rider’s couch. 
The knight returned him thanks for his courtesy; and, this 
.duty done, both resum'ed their seats by the table, whereon 
stood the trencher of pease placed between them. The hermit, 
after a long grace, which had once been Latin, but of which 
original language few traces remained, excepting here and 
there the long rolling termination of some word or phrase, 
set example to his guest, by modestly putting into a very large 
mouth, furnished with teeth which might have ranked with 
those of a boar both in sharpness and whiteness, some three 
or four dried pease, a miserable grist as it seemed for so large 
and able a mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, laid 
aside his helmet, his corselet, and the greater part of his 
armour, and showed to the hermit a head thick-curled with 
yellow hair, high features, blue eyes, remarkably bright and 
sparkling, a mouth well formed, having an upper lip clothed 
with moustachioes darker than his hair, and bearing altogether 
the look of a bold, daring, and enterprising man, with which 
his strong form well corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence of his 
mest, threw back his cowl/ and showed a round bullet head 


^ armor covering the body. 


2 monk’s hood. 


IVANHOE. 


163 


belonging to a man in the prime of life. His close-shaven 
crown, surrounded by a circle of stiff curled black hair, had 
something the appearance of a parish pinfold^ begirt by its 
high hedge. The features expressed nothing of monastic aus- 
terity, or of ascetic privations ; on the contrary, it was a bold, 
bluff countenance, with broad black eyebrows, a well-turned 
forehead, and cheeks as round and vermilion as those of a 
trumpeter, from which descended a long and curly black 
beard. Such a visage, joined to the brawny form of the holy 
man, spoke rather of sirloins and haunches than of pease and 
pulse. This incongruity did not escape the guest. After he 
had with great difficulty accomplished the mastication of a 
mouthful of the dried pease, he found it absolutely necessary 
to request his pious entertainer to furnish him with some 
liquor; who replied to his request by placing before him a 
large can of the purest water from the fountain. 

‘Tt is from the well of St. Dunstan,^^ said he, "in which, 
betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred heathen Danes 
and Britons — blessed be his name And applying his black 
beard to the pitcher, he took a draught much more moderate 
in quantity than his encomium seemed to warrant. 

"It seems to me, reverend father,’^ said the knight, "that 
the small morsels which you eat, together with this holy, 
but somewhat thin beverage, have thriven with you marvel- 
lously. You appear a man more fit to win the ram at a wres- 
tling match, or the ring at a bout at quarter-staff, or the 
bucklers at a sword-play, than to linger out your time in this 
desolate wilderness, saying masses, and living upon parched 
pease and cold water.^^ 

"Sir Knight,” answered the hermit, "your thoughts, like 
those of the ignorant laity, are according to the flesh. It 
has pleased our Lady and my patron saint to bless the pit- 
tance to which I restrain myself, even as the pulse and water 
were blessed to the children Shadrach, Meshech, and Abed- 
nego,2 who drank the same rather than defile themselves with 
the wine and meats which were appointed them by the King 
of the Saracens.” 

1 place for confinement of stray cattle; training for three years they ate only 

a pound. the plainest food and drank only water 

2 Hebrew youths who were to appear — no wine. Daniel, chapter I. 
before the king of Babylon. While in 


164 


IVANHOE. 


^^Holy father/^ said the knight, ^^upon whose countenance 
it hath pleased Heaven to work such a miracle, permit a sin- 
ful layman to crave thy name?’^ 

‘^Thou mayst call me,^^ answered the hermit, ^^the Clerk 
of Copmanhurst,^ for so I am termed in these parts — they 
add, it is true, the epithet holy, but I stand not upon that, as 
being unworthy of such addition. — And now, valiant knight, 
may I pray ye for the name of my honourable guest?” 

^^Truly,” said the knight, ^^Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, 
men call me in these parts the Black Knight, — ^many, sir, add 
to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby I am no way ambitious 
to be distinguished.” 

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his 
guest’s reply. 

see,” said he, ^^Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou art a 
man of prudence and of counsel ; and moreover, I see that my 
poor monastic fare likes thee not, accustomed, perhaps, as 
thou hast been, to the license of courts and of camps, and 
the luxuries of cities; and now I bethink me. Sir Sluggard, 
that when the charitable keeper of this forest-walk left these 
dogs for my protection, and also those bundles of forage, he 
left me also some food, which, being unfit for my use, the 
very recollection of it had escaped me amid my more weighty 
meditations.” 

dare be sworn he did so,” said the knight; was con- 
vinced that there was better food in the cell. Holy Clerk, 
since you first doffed your cowl. — Your keeper is ever a jovial 
fellow; and none who beheld thy grinders contending with 
these pease, and thy throat flooded with this uncongenial ele- 
ment, could see thee doomed to such horse-provender and 
horse-beverage,” (pointing to the provisions upon the table^.) 
‘^and refrain from mending thy cheer. Let us see the keeper’s 
bounty, therefore, without delay.” 

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in which 
there was a sort of comic expression of hesitation, as if un- 
certain how far he should act prudently in trusting his guest. 
There was, however, as much of bold frankness in the knight’s 
countenance as was possible to be expressed by features. His 
smile, too, had something in it irresistibly comic, and gave 

1 Priest of Copmanhurst. Clerk is from the Saxon clerc, a priest, a clergyman. 


IVANHOE. 


165 


an assurance of faith and loyalty, with which his host could 
not refrain from sympathizing. 

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit went to 
the farther side of the hut, and opened a hutch, which was 
concealed with great care and some ingenuity. Out of the 
recesses of a dark closet, into which this aperture gave ad- 
mittance, he brought a large pasty, baked in a pewter platter 
of unusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placed before 
his guest, who, using his poniard to cut it open, lost no time 
in making himself acquainted with its contents. 

^^How long is it since the good keeper has been here said 
the knight to his host,' after having swallowed several hasty 
morsels of this reinforcement to the hermit^s good cheer. 

^^About two months,’^ answered the father, hastily. 

^^By the true Lord,*’ answered the knight, ^^everything in 
your hermitage is miraculous. Holy Clerk ! for I would have 
been sworn that the fat buck which furnished this venison 
had been running on foot within the week.^^ 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this observa- 
tion; and, moreover, he made but a poor figure while gazing 
on the diminution of the pasty, on which his guest was mak- 
ing desperate inroads; a warfare in which his previous pro- 
fession of abstinence left him no pretext for joining. 

have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the knight, 
stopping short of a sudden, ^^and I bethink me it is a custom 
there that every host who entertains a guest shall assure him 
of the wholesomeness of his food, by partaking of it along 
with him. Far be it from me to suspect so holy a man of 
aught inhospitable; nevertheless, I will be highly bound to 
you would you comply with this Eastern custom.” 

^^To ease your unnecessary scruples. Sir Knight, I will for 
once depart from my rule,” replied the hermit. And as there 
were no forks in those days, his clutches were instantly in 
the bowels of the pasty. 

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed matter of 
rivalry between the guest and the entertainer which should 
display the best appetite ; and although the former had prob- 
ably fasted longest, yet the hermit fairly surpassed him. 

^^Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger was ap- 
peased, ‘‘1 would gage my good horse yonder against a zee- 


166 


IVANHOE. 


chin, that that same honest keeper to whom we are obliged 
for the venison has left thee a stoup of wine, or a runlet of 
canary, or some such trifle, by way of ally to this noble pasty. 
This would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthy to 
dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite; yet, I think, 
were you to search yonder crypt once more, you would find 
that I am right in my conjecture.’^ 

The hermit replied by a grin; and returning to the 
hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which might contain' 
about four quarts. He also brought forth two large drinking 
cups, made out of the horn of the urus,^ and hooped with 
silver. Having made this goodly provision for washing down 
the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremonious scru- 
ple necessary on his part; but filling both cups, and sapng, 
in the Saxon fashion, '‘Waes hael,^ Sir Sluggish Knight !” he 
emptied his own at a draught. 

''DrinTc hael, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst !” answered the 
warrior, and did his host reason in a similar brimmer. 

‘^Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first cup was 
swallowed, cannot but marvel that a man possessed of such 
thews and sinews as thine, and who therewithal shows the 
talent of so goodly a trencher-man, should think of abiding by 
himself in this wilderness. In my judgment, you are fitter to 
keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and drinking of the 
strong, than to live here upon pulse and water, or even upon 
the charity of the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should 
find myself both disport and plenty out of the king’s deer. 
There is many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck will 
never be missed that goes to the use of St. Dunstan’s chap- 
lain.” 

^^Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, ^These are dan- 
gerous woods, and I pray you to forbear them. I am true 
hermit to the king and law, and were I to spoil my liege’s 
game, I should be sure of the prison, and, an my gown saved 
me not, were in some peril of hanging.” 

‘^Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight, “I would 
take my walk by moonlight, when foresters and keepers were 
warm in bed, and ever and anon — as I pattered^ my prayers, — 
I would let fly a shaft among the herds of dun deer that 

1 wild ox. * Be whole, hale; I drink your health. 3 mumbled, rattled off. 


IVANHOE. 


167 


feed in the glades. Resolve me. Holy Clerk, hast thou never 
practised such a pastime ?” 

“Friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, “thou hast seen 
all that can concern thee of my housekeeping, and something 
more than he deserves who takes up his quarters by violence. 
Credit me, it is better to enjoy the good which God sends thee, 
than to be impertinently curious how it comes. Fill thy cup, 
and welcome ; and do not, I pray thee, by further impertinent 
inquiries, put me to show that thou couldst hardly have made 
good thy lodging, had I been earnest to oppose thee.” 

“By my faith,” said the knight, “thou makest me more 
curious than ever! Thou art the most mysterious hermit I 
ever met; and I will know more of thee ere we part. As for 
thy threats, know, holy man, thou speakest to one whose 
trade it is to find out danger wherever it is to be met with.” 

“Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the hermit; 
“respecting thy valour much, but deeming wondrous slightly 
of thy discretion. If thou wilt take equal arms with me, I 
will give thee, in all friendship and brotherly love, such suf- 
ficing penance and complete absolution, that thou shalt not 
for the next twelve months sin the sin of excess of curiosity.” 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his 
weapons. 

“There is none,” replied the hermit, “from the scissors of 
Delilah,^ and the tenpenny nail of Jael,^ to the scimiter of 
Goliath,^ at which I am not a match for thee. But, if I am 
to make the election, what sayest thou, good friend, to these 
trinkets ?” 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out from 
it a couple of broadswords and bucklers, such as were used by 
the yeomanry of the period. The knight, who watched his 
motions, observed that this second place of concealment was 
furnished with two or three good long-bows, a cross-bow, a 
bundle of bolts for the latter, and half-a-dozen sheaves of 
arrows for the former. A harp, and other matters of a very 
uncanonical appearance, were also visible when this dark 
recess was opened. 

1 Delilah had a man cut off the hair of Sisera. Judges iv : 17-21. 

Samson’s head, and “ his strength went ® the sword with which he came to 
from him.” Judges xvi : 18, 19. meet David. I. Samuel xvii : 45. 

2 the tent-pin with which Jael killed 


168 


IVANHOE. 


promise thee, brother Clerk/’ said he, will ask thee 
no more offensive questions. The contents of that cupboard 
are an answer to all my inquiries ; and I see a weapon there” 
(here he stooped and took out the harp) ^^on which I would 
more gladly prove my skill with thee than at the sword and 
buckler.” 

^T hope. Sir Knight,” said the hermit, ^Thou hast given no 
good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. I do promise 
thee I suspect thee grievously. Nevertheless, thou art my 
guest, and I will not put thy manhood to the proof without 
thine own free will. Sit thee down, then, and fill thy cup; 
let us drink, sing, and be merry. If thou knowest ever a good 
lay, thou shalt be welcome to a nook of pasty at Copman- 
hurst so long as I serve the chapel of St. Dunstan, which, 
please God, shall be till I change my grey covering for one of 
green turf. But come, fill a fiagon,^ for it will crave^ some 
time to tune the harp; and naught pitches the voice and 
sharpens the ear like a cup of wine. For my part, I love to 
feel the grape at my very finger-ends before they make the 
harp-strings tinkle.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

MIRTH AND MUSIC AT THE HERMITAGE. REVELS OF THE 
KNIGHT AND HERMIT INTERRUPTED. 

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, 
with which his guest willingly complied, he found it no easy 
matter to bring the harp to harmony. 

^^Methinks, holy father,” said he, ^The instrument wants 
one string, and the rest have been somewhat misused.” 

"'Ay, mark’st thou that?” replied the hermit; "that shows 
thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,” he added, 
gravely casting up his eyes— "all the fault of wine and was- 

1 drinking vessel with a narrow mouth (like flask). 2 require. 


IVANHOE. 


169 


sail! I told Allan-a-Dale/ the northern minstrel, that he 
would damage the harp if he touched it after the seventh 
cup, but he would not be controlled. Friend, I drink to thy 
successful performance.” 

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the 
same time shaking his head at the intemperance of the Scot- 
tish harper. 

The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings into 
some order, and after a short prelude, asked his host whether 
he would choose a sirvente in the language of oc, or a lai in 
the language of oui, or a virelai/ or a ballad in the vulgar 
English. 

ballad, a ballad,” said the hermit, ^^against all the ocs 
and ouis of France. Downright English am I, Sir Knight, 
and downright English was my patron St. Dunstan,^ and 
scorned oc and oui, as he would have scorned the parings of 
the deviFs hoof — downright English alone shall be sung in 
this cell.” 

‘T will assay, then,” said the knight, ^^a ballad composed 
by a Saxon glee-man,* whom I knew in Holy Land.” 

It speedily appeared, that if the knight was not a complete 
master of the minstrel art, his taste for it had at least been 
cultivated under the best instructors. Art had taught him. 
to soften the faults of a voice which had little compass, and 
was naturally rough rather than mellow, and, in short, had 
done all that culture can do in supplying natural deficiencies. 
His performance, therefore, might have been termed very re- 
spectable by abler judges than the hermit, especially as the 
knight threw into the notes now a degree of spirit, and now 
of plaintive enthusiasm, which gave force and energy to the 
verses which he sung. 


1 the Scotch minstrel who joined 
Robin Hood’s band. 

2 The realm of France was divided 
betwixt the Norman and Teutonic 
race, who spoke the language in which 
the word “ves” is pronounced as oui, 
( we), and the inhabitants of the south- 
ern regions, whose speech, bearing 
some affinity to the Italian, pronounced 
the same word oc. The poets of the 


former race were called minstrels and 
their poems lays; those of the latter 
were termed troubadours and their com- 
positions sirventes and other names. 
— Scott. 

3 The hermit’s chapel was named St. 
Dunstan from a celebrated Anglo-Saxon 
divine and statesman (925-988). 

* a minstrel with his gay song. 


170 


IVANHOE. 


THE CRUSADER’S RETURN. 


1 


High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 
From Palestine the champion came; 
The cross upon his shoulders borne, 
Battle and blast had dimm’d and tom. 
Each dint upon his batter’d shield 
Was token of a foughten field; 

And thus, beneath his lady’s bower, 

He sung, as fell the twilight hour: — 


2 


“Joy to the fair! — thy knight behold, 
Return’d from yonder land of gold; 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need. 
Save his good arms, and battle-steed; 

His spurs, to dash against a foe. 

His lance and sword to lay him low; 

Such all the trophies of his toil. 

Such — and the hope of Tekla’s smile! 


3 


“Joy to the fair! whose constant knight 
Her favour fired to feats of might; 
Unnoted shall she not remain. 

Where meet the bright and noble train; 
Minstrel shall sing and herald tell — 
‘Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 

’Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field at Askalon! 


4 


“‘Note well her smile! — it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made. 

When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell» 
Iconium’s turban’d Soldan fell. 

Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades her neck of snow? 
Twines not of them one golden thread, 

But for its sake a Paynim bled.’ 


IVANHOE. 


171 


5 

'“Joy to the fair! — my name unknown, 

Each deed, and all its praise thine own; 
Then, oh! unbar this churlish gate, 

The night dew falls, the hour is late. 

Inured to Syria’s glowing breath, 

I feel the north breeze chill as death; 

Let grateful love quell maiden shame. 

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.” 


During this performance the hermit demeaned himself 
much like a first-rate critic of the present day at a new opera. 
He reclined back upon his seat, with his eyes half shut ; now, 
folding his hands and twisting his thumbs, he seemed ab- 
sorbed in attention, and anon, Mancing his expanded palms, 
he gently flourished them in time to the music. At one or two 
favourite cadences, he threw in a little assistance of his own, 
where the knight’s voice seemed unable to carry the air so 
high as his worshipful taste approved. When the song was 
ended, the anchorite emphatically declared it a good one, and 
well sung. 

‘^And yet,” said he, “I think my Saxon countr5rmen had 
herded long enough with the Normans, to fall into the tone of 
their melancholy ditties. What took the honest knight from 
home ? or what could he expect but to find his mistress agree- 
ably engaged with a rival on his return, and his serenade, as 
they call it, as little regarded as the caterwauling of a cat in 
the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to 
thee, to the success of all true lovers — I fear you are none,” 
he added, on observing that the knight (whose brain began 
to be heated with these repeated draughts) qualified his flagon 
with the water pitcher. 

^^Why,” said the knight, ^^did you not tell me that this 
water was from the well of your blessed patron, St. Dun- 
stan ?” 

^^Ay, truly,” said the hermit, ^^and many a hundred of 
pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he drank 
any of it. Everything should be put to its proper use in this 
world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as any one, the prerogatives 
of a jovial friar,” 


172 


IVANHOE. 


And so saying he reached the harp, and entertained his 
guest with the following characteristic song, to a sort of 
derry-down chorus, appropriate to an old English ditty: 

THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR 
1 

I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain; 

But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 

So happy a man as the iBarefooted Friar. 

2 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career. 

And is brought home at even-song prick’d through with a spear; 

I confess him in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. 

3 

Your monarch? — Pshaw! many a prince has been known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown. 

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar! 

4 

The Friar has walked out, and where’er he has gone, 

The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own; 

He can roam where he lists, he can stop where he tires. 

For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. 

5 

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums; 

For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, 

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted PYiar. 

6 

He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot. 

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot. 

And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire, 

Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 

* We do not read of mendicant friars in England till after 1274. This is an 
anachronism. 


IVANHOE. 


173 


7 

Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope; 

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar. 

Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 

my troth,” said the knight, ‘^thon hast sung well and 
lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And, talking of 
the devil. Holy Clerk, are you not afraid that he may pay 
you a visit during some of your uncanonical pastimes?” 

uncanonical !” answered the hermit ; scorn the charge 
— I scorn it with my heels! I serve the duty of my chapel 
duly and truly — two masses daily, morning and evening, 
primes, noons, and vespers, aves, credos, paters — ''' 

^‘Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in sea- 
son,” said his guest. 

''Exceptis excipiendis/' replied the hermit, ^^as our old 
abbot taught me to say, when impertinent la5anen should ask 
me if I kept every punctilio of mine order.” 

‘‘True, holy father,” said the knight; “but the devil is apt 
to keep an eye on such exceptions ; he goes about, thou know- 
est, like a roaring lion.” 

“Let him roar here if he dares,” said the friar ; “a touch of 
my cord will make him roar as loud as the tongs of Saint 
Dunstan^ himself did. I never feared man, and I as little fear 
the devil and his imps. Saint Dunstan, Saint Dubric, Saint 
Winibald, Saint Winifred, Saint Swibert, Saint Willick, not 
forgetting Saint Thomas a Kent, and my own poor merits to 
speed, I defy every devil of them, come cut and long tail. 
But to let you into a secret, I never speak upon such subjects, 
my friend, until after morning vespers.” 

He changed the conversation; fast and furious grew the 
mirth of the parties, and many a song was exchanged betwixt 
them, when their revels were interrupted by a loud knocking 
at the door of the hermitage. 

The occasion of this interruption we can only explain by 
resuming the adventures of another set of our characters; 

* A well-known l^end represents St. seizing him by the nose with his tongs. 
Dunstan as vanquishing tne devil by 


174 


IVANHOE. 


for, like old Ariosto,^ we do not pique ourselves upon con- 
tinuing uniformly to keep company with any one personage 
of our drama. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

AFTER THE TOURNAMENT. WHERE IS IVANHOE? HIS SQUIRE RECOG- 
NIZED. START FOR ROTHERWOOD. ST. WITHOLD’S. AN INCI- 
DENT, CEDRIC AND ATHELSTANE CONVERSE. 

When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down senseless in 
the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was to order him into the 
custody and care of his own attendants, but the words choked 
in his throat. He could not bring himself to acknowledge, in 
presence of such an assembly, the son whom he had renounced 
and disinherited. He ordered, however, Oswald to keep an 
eye upon him ; and directed that officer, with two of his serfs, 
to convey Ivanhoe to Ashby as soon as the crowd had dis- 
persed. Oswald, however, was anticipated in this good office. 
The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knight was nowhere to 
be seen. 

It was in vain that Cedric’s cupbearer looked around for 
his young master. He saw the bloody spot on which he had 
lately sunk down, but himself he saw no longer; it seemed 
as if the fairies had conveyed him from the spot. Perhaps 
Oswald (for the Saxons were very superstitious) might have 
adopted some such hypothesis, to account for Ivanhoe’s dis- 
appearance, had he not suddenly cast his eye upon a person 
attired like a squire, in whom he recognized the features of 
his fellow-servant Gurth. Anxious concerning his master’s 
fate, and in despair at his sudden disappearance, the trans- 
lated swineherd was searching for him everywhere, and had 
neglected, in doing so, the concealment on which his own safety 
depended. Oswald deemed it his duty to secure Gurth, as a 
fugitive of whose fate his master was to judge. 

Renewing his inquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, the 
only information which the cupbearer could collect from the 
bystanders was, that the knight had been raised with care by 

^ Ludovico Ariosto was one of the ics for lack of unity. Why does Scott 
most celebrated poets of Italy (1474- introduce him here? 

1533). He was often censured by crit- 


IVANHOE. 


175 


certain well-attired grooms, and placed in a litter belonging 
to a lady^ among the spectators, which had immediately trans- 
ported him ont of the press. Oswald, on receiving this in- 
telligence, resolved to return to his master for farther instruc- 
tions, carrying along with him Gurth, whom he considered 
in some sort as a deserter from the service of Cedric. 

The Saxon had been under very intense and agonizing 
apprehensions concerning his son; for Nature had asserted 
her rights, in spite of the patriotic stoicism^ which laboured 
to disown her. But no sooner was he informed that Ivanhoe 
was in careful, and probably in friendly hands, than the 
paternal anxiety, which had been excited by the dubiety® of 
his fate, gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride and 
resentment, at what he termed Wilfred^s filial disobedience. 
^^Let him wander his way,” said he; ^det those leech his 
wounds for whose sake he encountered them. He is fitter to 
do the juggling tricks of the Norman chivalry than to main- 
tain the fame and honour of his English ancestry with the 
glaive and brown-bill,^ the good old weapons of his country.” 

“If to maintain the honour of ancestry,” said Eowena, who 
was present, “it is sufficient to be wise in council and brave 
in execution — to be boldest among the bold, and gentlest 
among the gentle, I know no voice save his father’s — ” 

“Be silent. Lady Eowena ! — On this subject only I hear you 
not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s festival: we have 
been summoned thither with unwonted circumstance of hon- 
our and of courtesy, such as the haughty Normans have rarely 
used to our race since the fatal day of Hastings. Thither 
will I go, were it only to show these proud Normans how little 
the fate of a son, who could defeat their bravest, can affect a 
Saxon.” 

“Thither,” said Eowena, “do I not go ; and I pray you to 
beware, lest what you mean for courage and constancy shall 
be accounted hardness of heart.” 

“Eemain at home, then, ungrateful lady,” answered Cedric ; 
“thine is the hard heart, which can sacrifice the weal of an 

* Who can she be? Is she anyone we a.d.) who held that all emotion should 
know? be subdued, and joy and sorrow un- 

2 indifference to pleasure or pain. heeded. 

The Stoics were a Greek sect, disciples * uncertainty. 

of the philosopher Zeno (4th century * two differing kinds of Saxon spears, 


176 


IVANHOE. 


oppressed people to an idle and unauthorized attachment.^ I 
seek the noble Athelstane, and with him attend the banquet of 
John of Anjou.” 

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have 
already mentioned the principal events. Immediately upon 
retiring from the castle, the Saxon thanes, with their attend- 
ants, took horse ; and it was during the bustle which attended 
their doing so, that Cedric, for the first time, cast his eyes 
upon the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxon had returned 
from the banquet, as we have seen, in no very placid humour, 
and wanted but a pretext for wreaking his anger upon some 
one. ^^The gyves !” he said, ^The gyves Oswald — Hundibert ! 
— Dogs and villians ! — why leave ye the knave unfettered ?” 

Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of Gurth 
bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord which occurred. 
He submitted to the operation without remonstrance, except 
that, darting a reproachful look at his master, he said, ^^This 
comes of loving your flesh and blood better than mine own.” 

‘^To horse, and forward !” said Cedric. 

‘Tt is indeed full time,” said the noble Athelstane ; "Tor if 
we ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot Waltheoff^s prepara- 
tions for a rere-supper® will be altogether spoiled.” 

The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach the 
convent of St. Withold’s before the apprehended evil took 
place. The Abbot, himself of ancient Saxon descent, received 
the noble Saxons with the profuse and exuberant hospitality 
of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late, or rather an 
early, hour; nor did they take leave of their reverend host 
the next morning until they had shared with him a sumptu- 
ous refection. 

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an inci- 
dent happened somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, of 
all people of Europe, were most addicted to a superstitious 
observance of omens, and to whose opinions can be traced 
most of those notions upon such subjects, still to be found 
among our popular antiquities. For the Normans being a 
mixed race, and better informed according to the information 

* This was the real cause of Wilfrid’s * bonds or shackles, 

being banished from home. Cedric ® night meal; and sometimes it sig- 

de^red a marriage between Rowena and nified a collation given at a late hour 
Athelstane. after the regular supper. 


IVANHOE. 


177 


of the times, had lost most of the snperstitious prejudices 
which their ancesters had brought from Scandinavia, and 
piqued themselves upon thinking freely on such topics. 

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending 
evil was inspired by no less respectable a prophet than a 
large lean black dog, which, sitting upright, howled most 
piteously as the foremost riders left the gate, and presently 
afterwards, barking wildly, and jumping to and fro, seemed 
bent upon attaching itself to the party. 

‘‘I like not that music, father Cedric,” said Athelstane; 
for by this title of respect he was accustomed to address him. 

‘‘Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba; “I greatly fear we 
shall have to pay the piper.” 

“In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose memory the 
Abbot’s good ale (for Burton was already famous for that 
genial liquor) had made a favourable impression, — “in my 
mind we had better turn back, and abide with the Abbot until 
the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your path is 
crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have 
eaten your next meal.” 

“Away !” said Cedric, impatiently ; “the day is already too 
short for our journey. For the dog, I know it to' be the cur 
of the runaway slave Gurth, a useless fugitive like its master.” 

So saying, and rising at the same time in his stirrups, im- 
patient at the interruption of his journey, he launched his 
javelin at poor Fangs — ^for Fangs it was, who, having traced 
his master thus far upon his stolen expedition, had here lost 
him, and was now, in his uncouth way, rejoicing at his re- 
appearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the animal’s 
shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him to the earth ; and 
Fangs fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. 
Gurth’s heart swelled within him ; for he felt this meditated 
slaughter of his faithful adherent in a degree much deeper 
than the harsh treatment he had himself received. Having 
in vain attempted to raise his hand to his eyes, he said to 
Wamba, who, seeing his master’s ill-humour, had prudently 
retreated to the rear, “I pray thee, do me the kindness to 
wipe my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends 
me, and these bonds will not let me help myself one way or 
another.” 


178 


IVANHOE. 


Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode side 
by side for some time, during which Gurth maintained a 
moody silence. At length he could repress his feelings no 
longer. 

^Triend Wamba,^’ said he, ^^of all those who are fools 
enough to serve Cedric, thou alone has dexterity enough to 
make thy folly acceptable to him. Go to him, therefore, 
and tell him that neither for love nor fear will Gurth serve 
him longer. He may strike the head from me — he may 
scourge me — he may load me with irons — ^but henceforth he 
shall never compel me either to love or to obey him. Go to 
him, then, and tell him that Gurth the son of Beowulph 
renounces his service.” 

^^Assuredly,” said Wamba, ^^fool as I am, I shall not do 
your foohs errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck into 
his girdle, and thou knowest he does not always miss his mark.” 

care not,” replied Gurth, ^^how soon he makes a mark 
of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my young master, in his 
blood. To-day he has striven to kill before my face the only 
other living creature that ever showed me kindness. By Saint 
Edmund, Saint Dunstan, Saint Withold, Saint Edward the 
Confessor,’^- and every other Saxon saint in the calendar” (for 
Cedric never swore by any that was not of Saxon lineage, and 
all his household had the same limited devotion), ‘H will 
never forgive him !” 

^^To my thinking now,” said the Jester, who was frequently 
wont to act as peace-maker in the family, “our master did 
not propose to hurt Fangs, but only to affright him. For, 
if you observed, he rose in his stirrups, as thereby meaning 
to overcast the mark; and so he would have done, but Fangs 
happening to bound up at the very moment, received a 
scratch, which I will be bound to heal with a penny’s breadth 
of tar.” 

“If I thought so,” said Gurth, “if I could but think so — 
but no, I saw the javelin was well aimed — I heard it whizz 
through the air with all the wrathful malevolence of him who 
cast it, and it quivered after it had pitched in the ground, as 
if with regret for having missed its mark. By the hog dear 
to St. Anthony, I renounce him!” 

* King of England (1041-1066). He was canonized by Pope Alexander III. in 1166. 


IVANHOE. 


179 


And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen silence, 
which no efforts of the Jester could again induce him to 
break. 

Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the troop, 
conversed together on the state of the land, on the dissensions 
of the royal family, on the feuds and quarrels among the Nor- 
man nobles, and on the chance which there was that the 
oppressed Saxons might be able to free themselves from the 
yoke of the Normans, or at least to elevate themselves into 
national consequence and independence, during the civil con- 
vulsions which were likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric 
was all animation. The restoration of the independence of his 
race was the idol of his heart, to which he had willingly 
sacrificed domestic happiness and the interests of his own 
son. But, in order to achieve this great revolution in favour 
of the native English, it was necessary that they should be 
united among themselves, and act under an acknowledged 
head. The necessity of choosing their chief from the Saxon 
blood-royal was not only evident in itself, but had been made 
a solemn condition by those whom Cedric had intrusted with 
his secret plans and hopes. Athelstane had this quality at’ 
least; and though he had few mental accomplishments or 
talents to recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly 
person, was no coward, had been accustomed to martial exer- 
cises and seemed willing to defer to the advice of counselors 
more wise than himself. Above all, he was known to be lib- 
eral and hospitable, and believed to be good-natured. But 
whatever pretensions Athelstane had to be considered as head 
of the Saxon confederacy, many of that nation were disposed 
to prefer to his the title of the Lady Rowena, who drew her 
descent from Alfred, and whose father having been a chief 
renowned for wisdom, courage, and generosity, his memory 
was highly honoured by his oppressed countrymen. 

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had he 
been so disposed, to have placed himself at the head of a 
third party, as formidable at least as any of the others. To 
counterbalance their royal descent, he had courage, activity, 
energy, and, above all, that devoted attachment to the cause 
which had procured him the epithet of The Saxon and his. 
birth was inferior to none, excepting only that of Athelstane 


180 


IVANHOE. 


and his ward. These qualities, however, were unalloyed by 
the slightest shade of selfishness; and, instead of dividing 
yet farther his weakened nation by forming a faction of his 
own, it was a leading part of Cedric’s plan to extinguish that 
which already existed, by promoting a marriage betwixt Ro- 
wena and Athelstane. An obstacle occurred to this his favour- 
ite project, in the mutual attachment of his ward and his 
son; and hence the original cause of the banishment of Wil- 
fred from the house of his father. 

This stern measure Cedric had adopted, in hopes that, dur- 
ing Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might relinquish her prefer- 
ence, but in this hope he was disappointed ; a disappointment 
which might be attributed in part to the mode in which his 
ward had been educated. Cedric, to whom the name of 
Alfred was as that of a deity, had treated the sole remaining 
scion of that great monarch with a degree of observance, such 
as, perhaps, was in those days scarce paid to an acknowledged 
princess. Rowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law 
to his household; and Cedric himself, as if determined that 
her sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within that lit- 
tle circle at least, seemed to take a pride in acting as the first 
of her subjects. Thus trained in the exercise not only of 
free will, but despotic authority, Rowena was, by her previous 
education, disposed both to resist and to resent any attempt 
to control her affections, or dispose of her hand contrary to 
her inclinations, and to assert her independence in a case in 
which even those females who have been trained up to obedi- 
ence and subjection, are not infrequently apt to dispute the 
authority of guardians and parents. The opinions which she 
felt strongly, she avowed boldly; and Cedric, who could not 
free himself from his habitual deference to her opinions, felt 
totally at a loss how to enforce his authority of guardian. 

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with the 
prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena, who possessed strong 
sense, neither considered his plan as practicable, nor as de- 
sirable, so far as she was concerned, could it have been 
achieved. Without attempting to conceal her avowed prefer- 
ence of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were that fav- 
oured knight out of question, she would rather take refuge in 
a convent than share a throne with Athelstane, whom, having 


IVANHOE. 


181 


always despised, she now began, on account of the trouble 
she received on his account, thoroughly to detest. 

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinion of women^s constancy 
was far from strong, persisted in using every means in his 
power to bring about the proposed match, in which he con- 
ceived he was rendering an important service to the Saxon 
cause. The sudden and romantic appearance of his son in the 
lists at Ashby, he had justly regarded as almost a death’s blow 
to his hopes. His paternal affection, it is true, had for an 
instant gained the victory over pride and patriotism ; but both 
had returned in full force, and under their joint operation 
he was now bent upon making a determined effort for the 
union of Athelstane and Eowena, together with expediting 
those other measures which seemed necessary to forward the 
restoration of Saxon independence. 

On this last subject, he was now labouring with Athelstane, 
not without having reason, every now and then, to lament, 
like Hotspur, that he should have moved such a dish of 
skimmed milk to so honourable an action. Athelstane, it is 
true, was vain enough, and loved to have his ears tickled with 
tales of his high descent, and of his right by inheritance to 
homage and sovereignty. But his petty vanity was sufficiently 
gratified by receiving this homage at the hands of his imme- 
diate attendants, and of the Saxons who approached him. 
If he had the courage to encounter danger, he at least hated 
the trouble of going to seek it; and while he agreed in the 
general principles laid down by Cedric concerning the claim 
of the Saxons to independence, and was still more easily con- 
vinced of his own title to reign over them when that inde- 
pendence should be attained, yet when the means of asserting 
these rights came to be discussed, he was still Athelstane the 
Unready,” slow, irresolute, procrastinating, and unenterpris- 
ing. The warm and impassioned exhortations of Cedric had 
as little effect upon his impassive temper, as red-hot balls 
alighting in the water, which produce a little sound and 
smoke, and are instantly extinguished. 

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to spurring 
a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, Cedric fell back 
to his ward Eowena, he received little more satisfaction from 
conferring with her. For, as his presence interrupted the 


182 


IVANHOE. 


discourse between the lady and her favourite attendant upon 
the gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha failed not to re- 
venge both her mistress and herself by recurring to the over- 
throw of Athelstane in the lists, the most disagreeable subject 
which could greet the ears of Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, 
therefore, the day^s journey was fraught with all manner of 
displeasure and discomfort; so that he more than once in- 
ternally cursed the tournament, and him who had proclaimed 
it, together with his own folly in ever thinking of going 
thither. 

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travellers 
paused in a woodland shade by a fountain, to repose their 
horses and partake of some provisions, with which the hos- 
pitable Abbot had loaded a sumpter-mule. Their repast was 
a pretty long one; and these several interruptions rendered 
it impossible for them to hope to reach Eotherwood without 
travelling all night, a conviction which induced them to pro- 
ceed on their way at a more hasty pace than they had hitherto 
used. 


CHAPTEE XIX 

CRIES FOR HELP HEARD. THE LITTER. THE SAXON BAND CAPTURED* 
TWO ESCAPE. THE YEOMAN. 

The travellers had now reached the verge of the wooded 
country, and were about to plunge into its recesses, held dan- 
gerous at that time from the number of outlaws whom 
oppression and poverty had driven to despair, and who occu-' 
pied the forests in such large bands as could easily bid de- 
fiance to the feeble police of the period. From these rovers,, 
however, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, Cedric and 
Athelstane accounted themselves secure, as they had in at- 
tendance ten servants, besides Wamba and Gurth, whose aid 
could not be counted upon, the one being a jester and the 
other a captive. It may be added, that in travelling thus late 
through the forest, Cedric and Athelstane relied on their 
descent and character, as well as their courage. The outlaws, 
whom the severity of the forest laws had reduced to this rov- 
ing and desperate mode of life, were chiefiy peasants and 


IVANHOE. 


183 


yeomen of Saxon descent, and were generally supposed to 
respect the persons and property of their countr5rmen. 

As the travellers journeyed on their way, they were alarmed 
by repeated cries for assistance; and when they rode up to 
the place from whence they came, they were surprised to find 
a horse-litter placed upon the ground, beside which sat a 
young woman, richly dressed in the Jewish fashion, while an 
old man, whose yellow cap proclaimed him to belong to the 
same nation, walked up and down with gestures expressive of 
the deepest despair, and wrung his hands, as if affected by 
some strange disaster. 

To the inquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old Jew 
could for some time only answer by invoking the protection 
of all the patriarchs of the Old Testament successively against 
the sons of Ishmael, who were coming to smite them, hip 
and thigh, with the edge of the sword. When he began to 
come to himself out of this agony of terror, Isaac of York 
(for it was our old friend) was at length able to explain that 
he had hired a body-guard of six men at Ashby, together with 
mules for carrying the litter of a sick friend. This party 
had undertaken to escort him as far as Doncaster. They had 
come thus far in safety; but having received information 
from a wood-cutter that there was a strong band of outlaws 
lying in wait in the woods before them, Isaac’s mercenaries 
had not only taken fiight, but had carried off with them the 
horses which bore the litter, and left the J ew and his daugh- 
ter without the means either of defence or of retreat, to be 
plundered, and probably murdered, by the banditti, whom they 
expected every moment would bring down upon them. Would 
it but please your valours,” added Isaac, in a tone of deep 
humiliation, ^To permit the poor Jews to travel under your 
safeguard, I swear by the tables of our law that never has 
favour been conferred upon a child of Israel since the days of 
our captivity, which shall be more gratefully acknowledged.” 

^^Dog of a Jew !” said Athelstane, whose memory was of 
that petty kind which stores up trifles of all kinds, but par- 
ticularly trifling offences, “dost not remember how thou didst 
beard us in the gallery at the tilt-yard?^ Fight or fiee, or 
compound^ with the outlaws as thou dost list, ask neither aid 

1 place where a tournament or tilt is held. * bargain. 


184 


IVANHOE. 


nor company from ns ; and if they rob only such as thee, who 
rob all the world, I, for mine own share, shall hold them 
right honest folk/^ 

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his com- 
panion. ‘‘We shall do better,^^ said he, “to leave them two of 
our attendants and two horses to convey them back to the 
next village. It will diminish our strength but little; and 
with your good sword, noble Athelstane, and the aid of those 
who remain, it will be light work for us to face twenty of 
those runagates.^’ 

Eowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of outlaws in 
force, and so near them, strongly seconded the proposal of 
her guardian. But Eebecca, suddenly quitting her dejected 
posture, and making her way through the attendants to the 
palfrey of the Saxon lady, knelt down, and, after the Oriental 
fashion in addressing superiors, kissed the hem of Eowena’s 
garment. Then rising, and throwing back her veil, she im- 
plored her in the great name of the God whom they both 
worshipped, and by that revelation of the Law upon Mount 
Sinai, in which they both believed, that she would have com- 
passion upon them, and suffer them to go forward under their 
safeguard. “It is not for myself that I pray this favour,” said 
Eebecca ; “nor is it even for that poor old man. I know that 
to wrong and to spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a 
merit, with the Christians; and what is it to us whether it 
be done in the city, in the desert, or in the field? But it is 
in the name of one dear to many, and dear even to you, 
that I beseech you to let this sick person be transported with 
care and tenderness under your protection. For, if evil 
chance him, the last moment of your life would be embit- 
tered with regret for denying that which I ask of you.” 

The noble and solemn air with which Eebecca made this 
appeal, gave it double weight with the fair Saxon. 

“The man is old, and feeble,” she said to her guardian, “the 
maiden young and beautiful, their friend sick and in peril of 
his life — Jews though they be, we cannot as Christians leave 
them in this extremity. Let them unload two of the sumpter- 
mules, and put the baggage behind two of the serfs. The 
mules may transport the litter, and we have led horses for the 
old man and his daughter.” 


IVANHOE. 


185 


Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and Athel- 
stane only added the condition, ^^that they should travel in 
the rear of the whole party, where Wamba,^’ he said, “might 
attend them with his shield of boar’s brawn.” 

“I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,” answered the Jes- 
ter, “as has been the fate of many a better knight than my- 
self.” 

Athelstane coloured deeply, for such had been his own fate 
on the last day of the tournament; while Eowena, who was 
pleased in the same proportion, as if to make amends for 
the brutal jest of her unfeeling suitor, requested Rebecca to 
ride by her side. 

“It were not fit I should do so,” answered Rebecca, with 
proud humility, “where my society might be held a disgrace 
to my protectress.” 

By this time the change of baggage was hastily achieved; 
for the single word “outlaws” rendered everyone sufficiently 
alert, and the approach of twilight made the sound yet more 
impressive. Amid the bustle, Gurth was taken from horse- 
back, in the course of which removal he prevailed upon the 
Jester to slack the cord with which his arms were bound. It 
was so negligently refastened, perhaps intentionally, on the 
part of Wamba, that Gurth found no difficulty in freeing his 
arms altogether from bondage, and then, gliding into the 
thicket, he made his escape from the party. 

The bustle had been considerable, and it was some time be- 
fore Gurth was missed; for, as he was to be placed for the 
rest of the journey behind a servant, everyone supposed that 
some other of his companions had him under his custody, 
and when it began to be whispered among them that Gurth 
had actually disappeared, they were under such immediate 
expectation of an attack from the outlaws that it was not held 
convenient to pay much attention to the circumstance. 

The path upon which the party travelled was now so nar- 
row as not to admit, with any sort of convenience, above two 
riders abreast, and began to descend into a dingle, traversed 
by a brook whose banks were broken, swampy, and overgrown 
with dwarf willows. Cedric and Athelstane, who were at the 
head of their retinue, saw the risk of being attacked at this 
pass; but neither of them having had much practice in war. 


186 


IVANHOE. 


no better mode of preventing the danger occurred to them 
than that they should hasten through the defile as fast as pos- 
sible. Advancing, therefore, without much order, they had 
just crossed the brook with a part of their followers, when 
they were assailed in front, flank, and rear at once, with an 
impetuosity to which, in their confused and ill-prepared con- 
dition, it was impossible to oiler effectual resistance. The 
shout of ^^a white dragon ! — A white dragon ! — Saint George^ 
for merry England!” war-cries adopted by the assailants, as 
belonging to their assumed character of Saxon outlaws, was 
heard on every side, and on every side enemies appeared with 
a rapidity of advance and attack which seemed to multiply 
their numbers. 

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same 
moment, and each under circumstances expressive of his char- 
acter. Cedric, the instant that an enemy appeared, launched 
at him his remaining javelin, which, taking better effect than 
that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the man against an 
oak-tree that happened to be close behind him. Thus far 
successful, Cedric spurred his horse against a second, drawing 
his sword at the same time, and striking with such incon- 
siderate fury that his weapon encountered a thick branch 
which hung over him, and he was disarmed by the violence of 
his own blow. He was instantly made prisoner, and pulled 
from his horse by two or three of the banditti who crowded 
around him. Athelstane shared his captivity, his bridle hav- 
ing been seized, and he himself forcibly dismounted, long be- 
fore he could draw his weapon, or assume any posture of 
effectual defence. 

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised and 
terrified at the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey to the 
assailants ; while the Lady Eowena, in the center of the caval- 
cade, and the Jew and his daughter in the rear, experienced 
the same misfortune. 

Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who showed 
upon the occasion much more courage than those who pre- 
tended to greater sense. He possessed himself of a sword be- 
longing to one of the domestics, who was just drawing it with 

* a national saint of England, was dragon that was about to swallow a 
martyred at Nicomedia in Asia Minor, maiden is a legendary feat attributed 
April 23, 303. He was made patron to him. 
saint in 1350. The killing of a white 


IVANHOE. 


187 


a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it about him like a lion, 
drove back several who approached him, and made a brave 
though ineffectual attempt to succour his master. Finding 
himself overpowered, the Jester at length threw himself from 
his horse, plunged into the thicket, and, favoured by the gen- 
eral confusion, escaped from the scene of action. 

Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself safe, 
hesitated more than once whether he should not turn back and 
share the captivity of a master to whom he was sincerely 
attached. 

have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,” he 
said to himself, ^^but I wish any wise man would teach me 
what use to make of it now that I have it.” 

As he pronounced these words aloud, a yoice very near 
him called out in a low and cautious tone, ^^Wamba !” and, at 
the same time, a dog, which he recognized to be Fangs, 
jumped up and fawned upon him. ^^Gurth !” answered Wam- 
ba, with the same caution, and the swineherd immediately 
stood before him. 

^^What is the matter?” said he eagerly; ^Vhat mean these 
cries, and that clashing of swords ?” 

‘‘^Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba; ^^they are all 
prisoners.” 

^‘Who are prisoners?” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently. 

^^My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundibert, 
and Oswald.” 

^Gn the name of God !” said Gurth, ^^how came they pris- 
oners? — and to whom?” 

^^Our master was too ready to fight,” said the J ester ; ^^and 
Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other person was 
ready at all. And they are prisoners to green cassocks, and 
black visors.^ And they lie all tumbled about on the green, 
like the crab-apples that you shake down to your swine. And 
I would laugh at it,” said the honest Jester, ‘‘it I could for 
weeping.” And he shed tears of unfeigned sorrow. 

Gurth’s countenance kindled. ^^Wamba,” he said, ^Ghou 
hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever stronger than thy brain. 
We are only two, but a sudden attack from men of resolution 
will do much — follow me !” 


1 robbers wearing green cloaks and black masks. 


188 


IVANHOE. 


“Whither? — and for what purpose said the Jester. 

“To rescue Cedric/^ 

“But you have renounced his service but now/^ said Wamba. 

“That/^ said Gurth, “was but while he was fortunate — fol- 
low me !” 

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person suddenly 
made his appearance, and commanded them both to halt. 
From his dress and arms, Wamba would have conjectured him 
to be one of those outlaws who had just assailed his master; 
but, besides that he wore no mask, the glittering baldric across 
his shoulder, with the rich bugle-horn which it supported, as 
well as the calm and commanding expression of his voice and 
manner, made him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognize 
Locksley the yeoman, who had been victorious, under such 
disadvantageous circumstances, in the contest for the prize of 
archery. 

“What is the meaning of all this,’^ said he, “or who is it 
that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners in these forests?’^ 

“You may look at their cassocks close by,^^ said Wamba, 
“and see whether they be thy children’s coats or no — for they 
are as like thine own, as one green pea-cod is to another.” 

“I will learn that presently,” answered Locksley; “and I 
charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir from the place 
where ye stand until I have returned. Obey me, and it shall 
be the better for you and your masters. — Yet stay, I must 
render myself as like these men^ as possible.” 

So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, took a 
feather from his cap, and gave them to Wamba; then drew a 
vizard^ from his pouch, and repeating his charges to them to 
stand fast, went to execute his purposes of reconnoitring. 

“Shall we stand fast, Gurth?” said Wamba; “or shall we 
e’en give him leg bail In my foolish mind, he had all the 
equipage of a thief too much in readiness, to be himself a 
true man.” 

“Let him be the devil,” said Gurth, “and he will. We can 
be no worse of waiting his return. If he belong to that party 
he must already have given them the alarm, and it will avail 
nothing either to flght or fly. Besides, I have late experi- 

* that is the, bandits with “green cas- man” while he went to reconnoitre, 
socks, etc.” He did not wish to be re- 2 mask, 
cognized as other than an ordinary “yeo- ^ run away. 


IVANHOE. 


189 


ence, that arrant thieves are not the worst men in the world 
to have to deal with/’ 

The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes. 

^‘Friend Gurth/’ he said, have mingled among yon men, 
and have learnt to whom they belong, and whither they are 
bound. There is, I think, no chance that they will proceed 
to any actual violence against their prisoners. For three men 
to attempt them at this moment, were little else than mad- 
ness ; for they are good men of war, and have, as such, placed 
sentinels to give the alarm when anyone approaches. But I 
trust soon to gather such a force, as may act in defiance of 
all their precautions; you are both servants, and, as I think, 
faithful servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of the rights 
of Englishmen. He shall not want English hands to help him 
in this extremity. Come then with me, until I gather more 
aid.” 

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, 
followed by the Jester and the swineherd. It was not consist- 
ent with Wamba’s humour to travel long in silence. 

‘T think,” said he, looking at the baldric and bugle which 
he still carried, ‘^That I saw the arrow shot which won this 
gay prize, and that not so long since as Christmas.” 

^^And I,” said Gurth, ‘^could take it on my halidom, that 
I have heard the voice of the good yeoman who won it, by 
night as well as by day, and that the moon is not three days 
older since I did so.” 

‘^Mine honest friends,” replied the yeoman, ^Vho, or what 
I am, is little to the present purpose; should I free your mas- 
ter, you will have reason to think me the best friend you have 
ever had in your lives. And whether I am known by one 
name or another — or whether I can draw a bow as well or 
better than a cow-keeper, or whether it is my pleasure to walk 
in sunshine or by moonlight, are matters, which, as they do 
not concern you, so neither need ye busy yourselves respecting 
them.” 

“Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,” said Wamba, in a 
whisper, to Gurth, “get them out how we can.” 

“Hush — be silent,” said Gurth. “Offend him not by thy 
folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go well.” 


190 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTER XX 

BENEATH THE OAK-TREE.. LOCKSLEY’S PLANS AND MOVEMENTS FOR 
THE RESCUE OF THE PRISONERS. 

It was after three hours’ good walking that the servants of 
Cedric, with their mysterious guide, arrived at a small open- 
ing in the forest, in the center of which grew an oak-tree of 
enormous magnitude, throwing its twisted branches in every 
direction. Beneath this tree four or five yeomen lay stretched 
on the ground, while another, as sentinel, walked to and fro 
in the moonlight shade. 

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch 
instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly started 
up and bent their bows. Six arrows placed on the string were 
pointed toward the quarter from which the travellers ap- 
proached, when their guide, being recognized, was welcomed 
with every token of respect and attachment, and all signs and 
fears of a rough reception at once subsided. 

^^Where is the Miller?” was his first question. 

^^On the road toward Rotherham.” 

^^With how many?” demanded the leader, for such he 
seemed to be. 

^AYith six men and good hope of booty, if it please St. 
Nicholas.” 

^^Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley; ^^and where is Allan-a- 
dale?” 

Walked up toward the Watling-street, to watch for the 
Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

^That is well thought on, also,” replied the Captain ; ^^and 
where is the Friar ?” 

“In his cell.” 

“Thither will I go,” said Locksley. “Disperse and seek your 
companions. Collect what force you can, for there’s game 
afoot that must be hunted hard, and will turn to bay. Meet 
me here by daybreak. — And, stay,” he added, “I have forgot- 
ten what is most necessary of the whole. — Two of you take 
the road quickly toward Torquilstone, the Castle of Front-de- 
Boeuf. A set of gallants, who have been masquerading in such 
guise as our own, are carrying a hand of prisoners thither. — 


IVANHOE. 


191 


Watch them closely, for even if they reach the castle before 
we collect our force, our honour is concerned to punish them, 
and we will find means to do so. Keep a close watch on them, 
therefore; and dispatch one of your comrades, the lightest 
-of foot, to bring the news of the yeomen thereabout.’^ 

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with alac- 
rity on their different errands. In the meanwhile, their 
leader and his two companions, who now looked upon him 
with great respect, as well as some fear, pursued their way to 
the Chapel of Copmanhurst. 

When they had reached the little moonlight glade, having 
in front the reverend, though ruinous, chapel, and the rude 
hermitage, so well suited to ascetic devotion, Wamba whis- 
pered to Gurth, ^Tf this be the habitation of a thief, it makes 
good the old proverb. The nearer the church the farther from 
God. And by my cockscomb,”^ he added, “I think it be even 
so — Hearken but to the black sanctus^ which they are singing 
in the hermitage !” 

In fact the anchorite and his guest were performing, at 
the full extent of their very powerful lungs, an old drinking- 
song, of which this was the burden: 

“ Come, trowl the brown bowl to me, 

Bully boy, bully boy, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me: 

Ho! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.” 

^^Now, that is not ill sung,” said Wamba, who had thrown 
in a few of his own flourishes to help out the chorus. ^^But 
who, in the saint’s name, ever expected to have heard such a 
Jolly chant come from out a hermit’s cell at midnight?” 

‘^Marry, that should I,” said Gurth, ^Tor the Jolly Clerk of 
Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills half the deer that are 
stolen in this walk. Men say that the keeper has complained 
to his official, and that he will be stripped of his cowl and 
cope altogether, if he keep not better order.” 

While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud and re- 
peated knocks had at length disturbed the anchorite and his 
guest. ^^By my beads,” said the hermit, stopping short in a 

1 licensed jester’s cap having a cockscomb for an ornament. 

2 ironical name for a drinking song. 


192 


IVANHOE. 


grand flourish, ^^here come more benighted guests. I would 
not for my cowl that they found us in this goodly exercise. 
All men have their enemies, good Sir Sluggard ; and there be 
those malignant enough to construe the hospitable refresh- 
ment which I have been offering to you, a weary traveller, for 
the matter of three short hours, into sheer drunkenness and 
debauchery, vices alike alien to my profession and my dis- 
position.” 

^‘Base calumniators!” replied the knight; would I had 
the chastising of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, it is true 
that all have their enemies; and there be those in this very 
land whom I would rather speak to through the bars of my 
helmet than barefaced.” 

^^Get thine iron pot on thy head, then, friend Sluggard, as 
quickly as thy nature will permit,” said the hermit, ‘Vhile I 
remove these pewter flagons, whose late contents run strangely 
in mine own pate ; and to drown the clatter — for, in faith, I 
feel somewhat unsteady — strike into the tune which thou 
hearest me sing; it is no matter for the words — I scarce 
know them myself.” 

So saying, he struck up a thundering De profundis clamavi, 
under cover of which he removed the apparatus of their ban- 
quet: while the knight, laughing heartily, and arming him- 
self all the while, assisted his host with his voice from time to 
time as his mirth permitted. 

^^What devil’s matins are you after at this hour?” said a 
voice from without. 

^^Heaven forgive you, Sir Traveller !” said the hermit, whose 
own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal potations, prevented 
from recognizing accents which were tolerably familiar to 
him. ^^Wend on your way, in the name of God and Saint 
Dunstan, and disturb not the devotions of me and my holy 
brother.” 

^‘Mad priest,” answered the voice from without, ^^open to 
Locksley I” 

‘^AlFs safe — all’s right,” said the hermit to his companion. 

^^But who is he?” said the Black Knight; ^‘it imports me 
much to know.” 

^^Who is he?” answered the hermit; tell thee he is a 
friend.” 


IVANHOE. 


193 


what friend ?” answered the knight ; or he may be 
friend to thee and none of mine/^ 

“What friend?’’ replied the hermit; “that, now, is one of 
the questions that is more easily asked than answered. What 
friend? — why, he is, now that I bethink me a little, the very 
same honest keeper I told thee of a while since.” 

“Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious hermit,” replied 
the knight, “I doubt it not. But undo the door to him before 
he beat it from its hinges.” 

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dreadful bay- 
ing at the commencement of the disturbance, seemed now to 
recognize the voice of him who stood without; for, totally 
changing their manner, they scratched and whined at the 
door, as if interceding for his admission. The hermit speedily 
unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley, with his two 
companions. 

“Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question as soon as 
he beheld the knight, “what boon companion hast thou here ?’^ 

“A brother of our order,” replied the friar, shaking hi& 
head ; “we have been at our orisons all night.” 

“He is a monk of the church militant, I think,” answered 
Locksley; “and there be more of them abroad. I tell thee, 
friar, thou must lay down the rosary and take up the quarter- 
staff; we shall need every one of our merry men, whether 
clerk or layman. But,” he added, taking him a step aside, 
“art thou mad? to give admittance to a knight thou dost 
not know ? Hast thou forgot our articles ?”^ 

“Not know him !” replied the friar, boldly, “I know him as 
well as the beggar knows his dish.” 

“And what is his name, then?” demanded Locksley. 

“His name,” said the hermit, “his name is Sir Anthony 
of Scrabelstone — as if I would drink with a man, and did 
not know his name !” 

“Thou hast been drinking more than enough, friar,” said 
the woodsman, “and, I fear, prating more than enough, too.”' 

“Good yeoman,” said the knight, coming forward, “be not 
wroth with my merry host. He did but afford me the hos- 
pitality which I would have compelled from him if he had 
refused it.” 


^ bonds of agreement. 


194 


IVANHOE. 


^^Thon compel!’’ said the friar; ^Vait but till I have 
changed this grey goiwn for a green cassock, and if I make 
not a quarter-staff ring twelve upon thy pate, I am neither 
true clerk nor good woodsman.” 

While he spoke thus, he stript off his gown, and appeared 
in a close black buckram doublet and drawers^ over which he 
speedily did on a cassock of green, and hose of the same colour. 

pray thee truss my points,”^ said he to Wamba, ‘‘^and thou 
shalt have a cup of sack for thy labour.” 

‘^Gramercy for thy sack,” said Wamba; ^^but think’ st thou 
it is lawful for me to aid you to transmew^ thyself from a holy 
hermit into a sinful forester?” 

‘^Never fear,” said the hermit; will but confess the sins 
of my green cloak to my grey friar’s frock, and all shall be 
well again.” 

^^Amen!” answered the Jester; broadcloth penitent 
should have a sackcloth confessor, and your frock may absolve 
my motley doublet into the bargain.” 

So saying, he accommodated the friar with his assistance 
in tying the endless number of points, as the laces which 
attached the hose to the doublet were then termed. 

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the knight a 
little apart, and addressed him thus: ^‘Deny it not. Sir 
Knight, you are he who decided the victory to the advantage 
of the English against the strangers on the second day of 
the tournament at Ashby.” 

^^And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman?” re- 
plied the knight. 

should in that case hold you,” replied the yeoman, 
friend to the weaker party.” 

‘‘Such is the duty of a true knight at least,” replied the 
Black Champion ; “and I would not willingly that there were 
reason to think otherwise of me.” 

“But for my purpose,” said the yeoman, “thou shouldst 
be as well a good Englishman as a good knight; for that, 
which I have to speak of, concerns, indeed, the duty of every 
honest man, but is more especially that of a true-born native 
of England.” 

“You can speak to no one,” replied the knight, “to whom 

^ tighten up the strings of my dress. 2 transform, change. 


IVANHOE. 


195 


England, and the life of every Englishman, can be dearer 
than to me/^ 

“I would willingly believe so,’’ said the woodsman, ^^for 
never had this country such need to be supported by those 
who love her. Hear me, and I will tell thee of an enterprise, 
in which, if thou be’st really that which thou seemest, thou 
mayst take an honourable part. A band of villains, in the 
disguise of better men than themselves, have made themselves 
master of the person of a noble Englishman, called Cedric the 
Saxon, together with his ward, and his friend, Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh, and have transported them to a castle in this 
forest, called Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a good knight 
and a good Englishman, wilt thou aid in their rescue ?” 

am bound by my vow to do so,” replied the knight ; ‘^but 
I would willingly know who you are, who request my assist- 
ance in their behalf?” 

am,” said the forester, ^^a nameless man; but I am the 
friend of my country, and of my country’s friends. With 
this account of me you must for the present remain satisfied, 
the more especially since you yourself desire to continue un- 
known. Believe, however, that my word, when pledged, is as 
inviolate as if I wore golden spurs.” 

willingly believe it,” said the knight; ‘‘1 have been 
accustomed to study men’s countenances, and I can read in 
thine honesty and resolution. I will, therefore, ask thee no 
further questions, but aid thee in setting at freedom these 
oppressed captives; which done, I trust we shall part bet- 
ter acquainted, and well satisfied with each other.” 

‘‘So,” said Wamba to Gurth — for the friar being now fully 
equipped, the Jester, having approached to the other side 
of the hut, had heard the conclusion of the conversation — “So 
we have got a new ally ? I trust the valour of the knight will 
be truer metal than the religion of the hermit, or the honesty 
of the yeoman; for this Locksley looks like a born deer- 
stealer, and the priest like a lusty hypocrite.” 

“Hold thy peace, Wamba,” said Gurth; “it may all be as 
thou dost guess ; but were the horned devil to rise and proffer 
me his assistance to set at liberty Cedric and the Lady Ro- 
wena, I fear I should hardly have religion enough to refuse 
the foul fiend’s offer, and bid him get behind me.” 


196 


IVANHOE. 


The friar was now completely accoutred as a yeoman, with 
sword and buckler, bow and quiver, and a strong partisan 
over his shoulder. He left his cell at the head of the party, 
and, having carefully locked the door, deposited the key under 
the threshold. 

“Art thou in condition to do good service, friar,^^ said 
Locksley, “or does the brown bowl still run in thy head ?” 

“Not more than a draught of St. Dunstan^s fountain will 
allay,” answered the priest ; “something there is of a whizzing 
in my brain, and of instability in my legs, but you shall pres- 
ently see both pass away.” 

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which the 
waters of the fountain as they fell formed bubbles which 
danced in the white moonlight, and took so long a draught 
as if he had meant to exhaust the spring. 

^‘When didst thou drink as deep a draught of water before, 
Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ?” said the Black Knight. 

“Never since my wine-butt leaked, and let out its liquor by 
an illegal vent,” replied the friar, “and so left me nothing to 
drink but my patron’s bounty here.” 

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, he 
washed from them all marks of the midnight revel. 

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled his 
heavy partisan round his head with three fingers, as if he 
had been balapcing a reed, exclaiming at the same time, 
Where be those false ravishers, who carry off wenches^ 
against their will? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if I 
am not man enough for a dozen of them.” 

“Swearest thou. Holy Clerk?” said the Black Knight. 

“Clerk me no Clerks,” replied the transformed priest; “by 
Saint George and the Dragon, I am no longer a shaveling 
than while my frock is on my back. When I am cased in my 
green cassock, I will drink, swear, and woo a lass, with any 
blithe forester in the West Biding.” 

“Come on. Jack Priest,” said Locksley, “and be silent; 
thou art as noisy as a whole convent on a holy eve, when the 
Father Abbot has gone to bed. Come on, you, too, my mas- 
ters, tarry not to talk of it. I say, come on, we must collect 
all our forces, and few enough we shall have, if we are to 
storm the Castle of Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf.” 

^ young women. 


IVANHOE. 


197 


“What ! Is it Front-de-Boeuf/^ said the Black Knight, 
■^Vhc has stopt on the king’s highway the king’s liege sub- 
jects? Is he turned thief and oppressor ?” 

“Oppressor he ever was,” said Locksley. 

“And for thief,” said the priest, “I doubt if ever he were 
nven half so honest a man as many a thief of my acquaint- 
ance.” 

“Move on, priest, and be silent,” said the yeoman ; “it were 
better you led the way to the place of rendezvous, than say 
what should be left unsaid, both in decency and prudence.” 


CHAPTER XXI 

NEFARIOUS PLOTTINGS. THE CASTLE OF TORQUILSTONE. DISPOSAL 
OP THE PRISONERS. CEDRIC’S INDIGNANT REFLECTIONS. FURI- 
OUS WINDING OF HORN HEARD. 

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric and 
his companions, the armed men by whom the latter had been 
seized hurried their captives along towards the place of secu- 
rity, where they intended to imprison them. But darkness 
came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed but imper- 
fectly known to the marauders. They were compelled to 
make several long halts, and once or twice to return on their 
road to resume the direction which they wished to pursue. 
The summer morn had dawned upon them ere they could 
travel in full assurance that they held the right path. But 
confidence returned with light, and the cavalcade now moved 
rapidly forward. Meanwhile, the following dialogue took 
place between the two leaders of the banditti: — 

“It is time thou shouldst leave us. Sir Maurice,” said the 
Templar to De Bracy, “in order to prepare the second part 
of thy mystery. Thou art next, thou knowest, to act the 
Knight Deliverer.” 

“I have thought better of it,” said De Bracy; “I will not 
leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited in Front-de-Boeuf’s 
castle. There will I appear before the Lady Rowena in mine 
own shape, and trust that she will set down to the vehemence 
of my passion the violence of which I have been guilty.” 


198 


IVANHOE. 


i 

‘^And what has made thee change thy plan, De Bracy?’^ 
replied the Knight Templar. 

‘‘That concerns thee nothing/’ answered his companion. 

“I would hope, however. Sir Knight,” said the Templar, 
“that this alteration of measures arises from no suspicion of 
my honourable meaning, such as Fitzurse endeavoured to instil 
into thee?” 

“My thoughts are my own,” answered De Bracy ; “the fiend 
laughs, they say, when one thief robs another; and we know, 
that were he to spit fire and brimstone instead, it would never 
prevent a Templar from following his bent.” 

“Or the leader of a Free Company,” answered the Templar, 
“from dreading at the hands of a comrade and friend* the 
injustice he does to all mankind.” 

“This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,” answered 
De Bracy ; “suffice it to say, I know the morals of the Temple 
Order, and I will not give thee the power of cheating me out 
of the fair prey for which I have run such risks.” 

“Psha,” replied the Templar, “what hast thou to fear? — 
Thou knowest the vows of our order.” 

“Eight well,” said De Bracy, “and also how they are kept. 
Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have a liberal inter- 
pretation in Palestine, and this is a case in which I will trust 
nothing to your conscience.” 

“Hear the truth, then,” said the Templar; “I care not for 
your blue-eyed beauty. There is in that train one who will 
make me a better mate.” 

“What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel?” said 
De Bracy. 

“Ko, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, haughtily. “To the 
waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have a prize among the 
captives as lovely as thine own.” 

“By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess!” said De 
Bracy. 

“And if I do,” said Bois-Guilbert, “who shall gainsay me ?” 

“Ko one that I know,” said De Bracy, “unless it be your 
vow of celibacy, or a check of conscience for an intrigue with 
a Jewess.” 

“For my vow,” said the Templar, “our Grand Master hath 
granted me a dispensation. And for my conscience, a man 


IVANHOE. 


199 


that has slain three hundred Saracens, need not reckon up 
every little failing, like a village girl at her first confession 
upon Good Friday eve.” 

^‘Thou J^nowest best thine own privileges,” said De Bracy. 
“Yet I would have sworn thy thoughts had been more on 
the old usurer’s money-bags than on the black eyes of the 
daughter.” 

“I can admire both,” answered the Templar; “besides, the 
old J ew is but half-prize. I must share his spoils with Front- 
de-Bceuf, who will not lend us the use of his castle for 
nothing. I must have something that I can term exclusively 
my own by this foray of ours, and I have fixed on the lovely 
Jewess as my peculiar prize. But, now thou knowest my 
drift, thou wilt resume thine own original plan, wilt thou 
not? — Thou hast nothing, thou seest, to fear from my inter- 
ference.” 

“No,” replied De Bracy, “I will remain beside my prize. 
What thou sayst is passing true, but I like not the privileges 
acquired by the dispensation of the Grand Master, and the 
merit acquired by the slaughter of three hundred Saracens. 
You have too good a right to a free pardon to render you very 
scrupulous about peccadilloes.” 

Wfiile this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was endeavour- 
ing to wring out of those who guarded him an avowal of their 
character and purpose. “You should be Englishmen,” said 
he; “and yet, sacred Heaven! you prey upon your country- 
men as if you were very Normans. You should be my neigh- 
bours, and, if so, my friends ; for which of my English neigh- 
bours have reason to be otherwise ? I tell ye, yeomen, that even 
those among ye who have been branded with outlawry have 
had from me protection; for I have pitied their miseries, 
and curst the oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What, 
then, would you have of me? or in what can this violence 
serve ye? — Ye are worse than brute beasts in your actions, 
and will you imitate them in their very dumbness?” 

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, 
who had* too many good reasons for their silence to be induced 
to break it either by his wrath or his expostulations. They 
continued to hurry him along, travelling at a very rapid rate, 
until, at the end of an avenue of huge trees, arose Torquil- 


200 


IVANHOE. 


stone, now the hoary and ancient castle of Eeginald Front-de- 
Boeuf. It was a fortress of no great size, consisting of a 
donjon, or large and high square tower, surrounded by build- 
ings of inferior height, which were encircled by ^ an inner 
courtyard. Around the exterior wall was a deep moat, sup- 
plied with water from a neighbouring rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, 
whose character placed him often at feud with his enemies, 
had made considerable additions to the strength of his castle, 
by building towers upon the outward wall, so as to flank 
it at every angle. The access, as usual in castles of the period, 
lay through an arched barbican, or outwork, which was ter- 
minated and defended by a small turret at each corner. 

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-BoeuFs castle 
raise their gray and moss-grown battlements, glimmering in 
the morning sun above the wood by which they were sur- 
rounded, than he instantly augured more truly concerning the 
cause of his misfortune. 

‘T did injustice,” he said, ^To the thieves and outlaws of 
these woods, when I supposed such banditti to belong to their 
bands; I might as justly have confounded the foxes of these 
brakes^ with the ravening wolves of France. Tell me, dogs — 
is it my life or my wealth that your master aims at? Is it 
too much that two Saxons, myself and the noble Athelstane, 
should hold land in the country which was once the patrimony 
of our race? Put us then to death, and complete your 
tyranny by taking our lives, as you began with our liberties. 
If the Saxon Cedric cannot rescue England, he is willing to 
die for her. Tell your tyrannical master, I do only beseech 
him to dismiss the Lady Kowena in honour and safety. She 
is a woman, and he need not dread her ; and with us will die 
all who dare fight in her cause.” 

The attendants remained as mute to this address as to the 
former, and they now stood before the gate of the castle. 
De Bracy winded his horn three times, and the archers and 
cross-bowmen, who had manned the wall upon seeing their 
approach, hastened to lower the drawbridge, and admit them. 
The prisoners were compelled by their guards to alight, and 
were conducted to an apartment where a hasty repast was 
offered them, of which none but Athelstane felt any inclina- 


thickets. 


IVANHOE. 


201 


tion to partake. Neither had the descendant of the Con- 
fessor much time to do justice to the good cheer placed before 
them, for their guards gave him and Cedric to understand 
that they were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart from 
Rowena. Resistance was vain; and they were compelled to 
follow to a large room,- which, rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, 
resembled those refectories and chapter-houses^ which may be 
still seen in the most ancient parts of our most ancient monas- 
teries. 

The Lady Rowena was next separated from her train, and 
conducted with courtesy, indeed, but still without consulting 
her inclination, to a distant apartment. The same alarming 
distinction was conferred on Rebecca, in spite of her father’s 
entreaties, who offered even money, in his extremity of dis- 
tress, that she might be permitted to abide with him. ^^Base 
unbeliever,” answered one of his guards, ^Vhen thou hast 
seen thy lair, thou wilt not wish thy daughter to partake it.” 
And, without farther discussion, the old Jew was forcibly 
dragged off in a different direction from the other prisoners. 
The domestics, after being carefully searched and disarmed, 
were confined in another part of the castle ; and Rowena was 
refused even the comfort she might have derived from the 
attendance of her handmaiden, Elgitha. 

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were confined, 
for to them we turn our first attention, although at present 
used as a sort of guard-room, had formerly been the great 
hall of the castle. It was now abandoned to meaner purposes, 
because the present lord, among other additions to the con- 
venience, security, and beauty of his baronial residence, had 
erected a new and noble hall, whose vaulted roof was sup- 
ported by lighter and more elegant pillars, and fitted up with 
that higher degree of ornament which the Normans had 
already introduced into architecture. 

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant reflec- 
tions on the past and on the present, while the apathy of his 
companion served, instead of patience and philosophy, to 
defend him against everything save the inconvenience 
of the present moment; and so little did he feel even this 
last, that he was only from time to time roused to a 


* eating-rooms and business quarters. 


202 


IVANHOE. 


reply by Cedric’s animated and impassioned appeal to him. 

^^Yes,” said Cedric, half speaking to himself, and half 
addressing himself to Athelstane, ^ht was in this very hall 
that my ancestor feasted with Torqnil Wolfganger, when he 
entertained the valiant and unfortunate Harold,^ then ad- 
vancing against the Norwegians, who had united themselves 
to the rebel Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold returned 
the magnanimous answer to the ambassador of his rebel 
brother. Oft have I heard my father kindle as he told the 
tale. The envoy of Tosti was admitted, when this ample room 
could scarce contain the crowd of noble Saxon leaders, who 
were quaffing the blood-red wine around their monarch.” 

hope,” said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this part of 
his friend’s discourse, ^They will not forget to send us some 
wine and refections at noon — we had scarce a breathing-space 
allowed to break our fast, and I never have the benefit of my 
food when I eat immediately after dismounting from horse- 
back, though the leeches recommend that practice.” 

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this inter- 
jectional observation of his friend. 

^^The envoy of Tosti,” he said, ^^moved up the hall, undis- 
mayed by the frowning countenances of all around him, until 
he made his obeisance before the throne of King Harold. 

^What terms,’ he said, ^Lord King, hath thy brother Tosti 
to hope, if he should lay down his arms, and crave peace at 
thy hands ?’ 

^A brother’s love,’ cried the generous Harold, ^and the 
fair earldom of Northumberland.’ 

^But should Tosti accept these terms,’ continued the 
envoy, Vhat lands shall be assigned to his faithful ally, 
Hardrada, King of Norway?’ 

^Seven feet of English ground,’ answered Harold 
fiercely, ^or as Hardrada is said to be a giant perhaps we 
may allow him twelve inches more.’ 

‘^The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn 


1 This was Harold II., King of England. 
In 1066 his brother Tosti with the King 
of Norway, sailing up the Humber, in- 
vaded the country. These forces 
Harold totally routed at the battle of 
Stamford Bridge. Immediately after- 
wards he heard of the landing of 


William, Duke of Normandy, on the 
“fatal shores of Sussex,” a county of 
England bordering the English Channel. 
The battle of Hastings followed. 
Harold was slain, and the crown of Eng- 
land passed to William. Thus ended 
the Saxon rule. 


IVANHOE. 


203 


was filled to the Norwegian, who should be speedily in pos- 
session of his English territory/^ 

could have pledged him with all my soul,” said Athel- 
stane, ^^for my tongue cleaves to my palate.” 

‘^The baffled envoy,” continued Cedric, pursuing with 
animation his tale, though it interested not the listener, 
^^retreated, to carry to Tosti and his ally the ominous 
answer of his injured brother. It was then that the distant 
towers of York, and the bloody streams of the Derwent, 
beheld that direful conflict, in which, after displaying the 
most undaunted valour, the King of Norway and Tosti both 
fell, with ten thousand of their bravest followers. Who 
would have thought that upon the proud day when this 
battle was won, the very gale which waved the Saxon ban- 
ners in triumph was filling the Norman sails, and impelling 
them to the fatal shores of Sussex ? — Who would have 
thought that Harold, within a few brief days, would himself 
possess no more of his kingdom than the share which he 
allotted in his wrath to the Norwegian invader?) — Who 
would have thought that you, noble Athelstane — that you, 
descended of Harold’s blood, and that I, whose father was 
not the worst defender of the Saxon crown, should be pris- 
oners to a vile Norman, in the very hall in which our 
ancestors held such high festival?” 

^Ht is sad enough,” replied Athelstane; ^fflut I trust they 
will hold us to a moderate ransom — At any rate it cannot 
be their purpose to starve us outright; and yet, although it 
is high noon, I see no preparations for serving dinner. Look 
up at the window, noble Cedric, and judge by the sunbeams 
if it is not on the verge of noon.” 

^Tt may be so,” answered Cedric; ^Tut I cannot look on 
that stained lattice without its awakening other reflections 
than those which concern the passing moment, or its priva- 
tions. When that window was wrought, my noble friend, 
our hardy fathers knew not the art of making glass, or of 
staining it — The pride of Wolf ganger’s father brought an 
artist from Normandy to adorn his hall with this new 
species of emblazonment, that breaks the golden light of 
God’s blessed day into so many fantastic hues. The 


204 


IVANHOE. 


foreigner came here poor, beggarly, cringing, and subserv- 
ient, ready to doff his cap to the meanest native of the 
household. He returned pampered and proud, to tell his 
rapacious countrymen of the wealth and the simplicity of 
the Saxon nobles — a folly, 0, Athelstane, foreboded of old, 
as well as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengist and 
his hardy tribes, who retained the simplicity of their man- 
ners. We made these strangers our bosom friends, our 
confidential servants ; we borrowed their artists and their 
arts and despised the honest simplicity and hardihood with 
which our brave ancestors supported themselves, and we 
became enervated by Norman arts long ere we fell under 
Norman arms. Far better was our homely diet, eaten in 
peace and liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of 
which hath delivered us as bondsmen to the foreign con- 
queror V’ 

should,’’ replied Athelstane, ^^hold very humble diet a 
luxury at present; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, that 
you can bear so truly in mind the memory of past deeds, 
when it appeareth you forget the very hour of dinner.” 

‘^It is time lost,” muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, 
^^to speak to him of aught else but that which concerns his 
appetite ! The soul of Hardicanute^ hath taken possession 
of him, and he hath no pleasure save to fill, to swill, and 
to call for more. — Alas !” said he, looking at Athelstane with 
compassion, ^That so dull a spirit should be lodged in so 
goodly a form! Alas, that such an enterprise as the regen- 
eration of England should turn on a hinge so imperfect! 
Wedded to Rowena, indeed, her nobler and more generous 
soul may yet awake the better nature which is torpid within 
him. Yet how should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane, 
and I myself remain the prisoners of this brutal marauder, 
and have been made so perhaps from a sense of the dangers 
which our liberty might bring to the usurped power of his 
nation ?” 

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful reflections, 
the door of their prison opened, and gave entrance to a 
sewer,2 holding his white rod of office. This important 

1 King of England (1040-1042). He was a dissolute ruler and gave little 
attention to the government. 2 steward. 


IVANHOE. 


205 


person advanced into the chamber with a grave pace, fol- 
lowed by fonr attendants, bearing in a table covered with 
dishes, the sight and smell of which seemed to be an instant 
compensation to Athelstane for all the inconvenience he had 
undergone. The persons who attended on the feast were 
masked and cloaked. 

^‘What mummery is this?’^ said Cedric; “think you that 
we are ignorant whose prisoners we are, when we are in 
the castle of your master? Tell him,” he continued, willing 
to use this opportunity to open a negotiation for his freedom, 
— “tell your master, Eeginald Front-de-Boeiif, that we know 
no reason he can have for withholding our liberty, excepting 
his unlawful desire to enrich himself at our expense. Tell 
him that we yield to his rapacity, as in similar circumstances 
we should do to that of a literal robber. Let him name the 
ransom at which he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, 
providing the exaction is suited to our means.” 

The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head. 

“And tell Sir Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said Athelstane, 
“that I send him my mortal defiance, and challenge him to 
combat with me, on foot or horseback, at any secure place, 
within eight days after our liberation; which, if he be a 
true knight, he will not, under these circumstances, venture 
to refuse or to delay.” 

“I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,” answered 
the sewer; “meanwhile I leave you to your food.” 

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no good 
grace; for a large mouthful, which required the exercise of 
both jaws at once, added to a natural hesitation, considerably 
damped the effect of the bold defiance it contained. Still, 
however, his speech was hailed by Cedric as an incontestable 
token of reviving spirit in his companion whose previous 
indifference had begun, notwithstanding his respect for 
Athelstane’s descent, to wear out his patience. But he now 
cordially shook hands with him in token of his approbation, 
and was somewhat grieved when Athelstane observed “that 
he would fight a dozen such men as Front-de-Boeuf, if, by 
so doing, he could hasten his departure from a dungeon 
where they put so much garlic into their pottage.” Notwith- 


206 


IVANHOE. 


standing this intimation of a relapse into the apathy of 
sensuality, Cedric placed himself opposite to Athelstane, 
and soon showed, that if the distresses of his country could 
banish the recollection of food while the table was uncovered, 
yet no sooner were the victuals put there, than he proved 
that the appetite of his Saxon ancestors had descended to 
him along with their other qualities. 

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, 
however, ere their attention was disturbed even from this 
most serious occupation by the blast of a horn winded before 
the gate, It was repeated three times, with as much violence 
as if it had been blown before an enchanted castle by the 
destined knight, at whose summons halls and towers, barbi- 
can and battlement, were to roll off like a morning vapour. 
The Saxons started from the table, and hastened to the 
window. But their curiosity was disappointed, for these 
outlets only looked upon the court of the castle, and the 
sound came from beyond its precincts. The summons, how- 
ever, seemed of importance, for a considerable degree of 
bustle instantly took place in the castle. 


CHAPTEE XXII 

TORQUILSTONE. ISAAC IN A DUNGEON. FRONT-DE-BOEUF VISITS HIM. 

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet as 
soon as their ungratified curiosity should permit them to 
attend to the calls of their half-satiated appetite, we have 
to look in upon the yet more severe imprisonment of Isaac 
of York. The poor Jew had been hastily thrust into a 
dungeon-vault of the castle, the floor of which was deep 
beneath the level of the ground, and very damp, being lower 
than even the moat itself. The only light was received 
through one or two loop-holes far above the reach of the 
captive’s hand. These apertures admitted, even at mid-day, 
only a dim and uncertain light, which was changed for utter 
darkness long before the rest of the castle had lost the 
blessing of day. Chains and shackles, which had been the 


IVANHOE. 


201 

portion of former captives, from whom active exertions to 
escape had been apprehended, hung rusted and empty on 
the walls of the prison, and in the rings of one of those sets 
of fetters there remained two mouldering bones, which 
seemed to have been once those of the human leg, as if some 
prisoner had been left not only to perish there, but to be 
consumed to a skeleton. 

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire- 
grate, over the top of which were stretched some transverse 
iron bars, half devoured with rust. 

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have appalled 
a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who, nevertheless, was 
more composed under the imminent pressure of danger, than 
he had seemed to be while affected by terrors, of which the 
cause was as yet remote and contingent. The lovers of the 
chase say that the hare feels more agony during the 
pursuit of the greyhounds than when she is struggling in 
their fangs. And thus it is probable that the Jews, by the 
very frequency of their fear on all occasions, had their minds 
in some degree prepared for every effort of tyranny which 
could be practised upon them; so that no aggression, when 
it had taken place, could bring with it that surprise which 
is the most disabling quality of terror. ISTeither was it the 
first time that Isaac had been placed in circumstances so 
dangerous. He had therefore experience to guide him, as 
well as hope, that he might again, as formerly, be delivered 
as a prey from the fowler. Above all, he had upon his side 
the unyielding obstinacy of his nation, and that unbending 
resolution with which Israelites have been frequently known 
to submit to the uttermost evils which power and violence 
can inflict upon them, rather than gratify their oppressors 
by granting their demands. 

In this humour of passive resistance, and with his gar- 
ment collected beneath him to keep his limbs from the wet 
pavement, Isaac sat in a corner of his dungeon, where his 
folded hands, his dishevelled hair and beard, his furred 
cloak and high cap, seen by the wiry and broken light, 
would have afforded a study for Eembrandt,^ had that cele- 

* the most celebrated painter and especially eminent in portrait painting, 
etcher of the Dutch school. He was He died at Amsterdam in 1669. 


208 


IVANHOE. 


brated painter existed at the period. The Jew remained, 
without altering his position, for nearly three hours, at 
the expiry of which steps were heard on the dungeon stair. 
The bolts screamed as they were withdrawn — the hinges 
creaked as the wicket opened, and Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, 
followed by the two Saracen slaves of the Templar, entered 
the prison. 

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had 
been spent in public war or in private feuds and broils, and 
who had hesitated at no means of extending his feudal 
power, had features corresponding to his character, and 
which strongly expressed the fiercer and more malignant 
passions of the mind. The scars with which his visage was 
seamed would, on features of a different cast, have excited 
the sympathy and veneration due to the marks of honour- 
able valour; but, in the peculiar case of Front-de-Boeuf, 
they only added to the ferocity of his countenance, and to 
the dread which his presence inspired. This formidable 
baron was clad in a leathern doublet, fitted close to his body, 
which was frayed and soiled with the stains of his armour. 
He had no weapon, excepting a poniard at his belt, which 
served to counterbalance the weight of the bunch of rusty 
keys that hung at his right side. 

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were 
etript of their gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins 
and trowsers of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked up 
above the elbow, like those of butchers when about to exer- 
cise their function in the slaughter-house. Each had in 
his hand a small pannier;^ and, when they entered the dun- 
geon, they stopt at the door until Front-de-Boeuf himself 
carefully locked and double-locked it. Having taken this 
precaution, he advanced slowly up the apartment towards 
the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed, as if he wished 
to paralyse him with his glance, as some animals are said 
to fascinate their prey. It seemed indeed as if the sullen 
and malignant eye of Front-de-Boeuf possessed some por- 
tion of that supposed power over his unfortunate prisoner. 
The Jew sate with his mouth agape, and his eyes fixed on 

> basket 


IVANHOE. 


209 


the savage baron with such earnestness of terror, that his 
frame seemed literally to shrink together, and to diminish 
in size while encountering the fierce Norman^s fixed and 
baleful gaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only of 
the power of rising to make the obeisance which his terror 
dictated, but he could not even doff his cap, or utter any 
word of supplication, so strongly was he agitated by the con- 
viction that tortures and death were impending over him. 

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman 
appeared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, 
which ruffles up its plumage when about to pounce on its 
defenceless prey. He paused within three steps of the corner 
in which the unfortunate Jew had now, as it were, coiled 
himself up into the smallest possible space, and made a 
sign for one of the slaves to approach. The black satellite 
came forward accordingly, and, producing from his basket 
a large pair of scales and several weights, he laid them at 
the feet of Front-de-Boeuf, and again retired to the respect- 
ful distance, at which his companion had already taken his 
station. 

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if 
there impended over their souls some preconception of hor- 
ror and of cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf himself opened the scene 
by thus addressing his ill-fated captive: — 

‘^Most accursed dog of an accursed race,’’ he said, awaking 
with his deep and sullen voice the sullen echoes of his dun- 
geon vault, ‘^seest thou these scales?” 

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative. 

‘Hn these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,” said the 
relentless Baron, ‘^a thousand silver pounds, after the just 
measure and weight of the Tower of London.” 

‘^Holy Abraham !” returned the Jew, finding voice through 
the very extremity of his danger, ^^heard man ever such a 
demand? — Who ever heard, even in a minstrel’s tale, of 
such a sum as a thousand pounds of silver? — What human 
sight was ever blessed with the vision of such a mass of 
treasure? — Not within the walls of York, ransack my house 
and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find the tithe of that 
huge sum of silver that thou speakest of.” 


210 


IVANHOE. 


am reasonable/^ answered Front-de-Boenf, ^^and if sil- 
ver be scant, I refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark of 
gold for each six pounds of silver, thou shalt free thy carcass 
from such punishment as thy heart has never even conceived.’’ 

‘^Have mercy on me, noble knight!” exclaimed Isaac; 
am old and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to 
triumph over me — It is a poor deed to crush a worm.” 

^^Old thou mayst be,” replied the knight; ^^more shame 
to their folly who have suffered thee to grow grey in usury 
and knavery — Feeble thou mayst be, for when had a Jew 
either heart or hand — But rich it is well known thou art.” 

^‘I swear to you, noble knight,” said the Jew, “by all 
which I believe, and by all which we believe in common — ” 

“Perjure not thyself,” said the Norman, interrupting him, 
“and let not thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until thou hast 
seen and well considered the fate that awaits thee. Think 
not I speak to thee only to excite thy terror, and practise 
on the base cowardice thou hast derived from thy tribe. I 
swear to thee by that which thou dost not believe, by the 
gospel which our church teaches, and by the keys which 
are given her^ to bind and to loose, that my purpose is deep 
and peremptory. This dungeon is no place for trifling. 
Prisoners ten thousand times more distinguished than thou 
have died within these walls, and their fate hath never been 
known ! But for thee is reserved a long and lingering 
death, to which theirs were luxury.” 

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, and 
spoke to them apart, in their own language; for he also had 
been in Palestine, where, perhaps, he had learnt his lesson 
of cruelty. The Saracens produced from their baskets a 
quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a flask of oil. 
While the one struck a light with a flint and steel, the other 
disposed the charcoal in the large rusty grate which we have 
already mentioned, and exercised the bellows until the fuel 
came to a red glow. 

“Seest thou, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “the range of 
iron bars above that glowing charcoal? — on that warm 
couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if thou wert 

^ Referring to the claim sometimes made regarding the Church of Rome as 
founded by Peter. Matt, xvi : 18, 19. 


IVANHOE. 


211 


to rest on a bed of down. One of these slaves shall maintain 
the fire beneath thee, while the other shall anoint thy 
wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn. — Now, 
choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment of 
a thousand pounds of silver; for, by the head of my father, 
thou hast no other option.’^ 

^^It is impossible,” exclaimed the miserable Jew — ^fit is 
impossible that your purpose can be real! The good God 
of nature never made a heart capable of exercising such 
cruelty I” 

^^Trust not to that, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, ^fit were 
a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who have seen a 
town sacked, in which thousands of my Christian country- 
men perished by sword, by flood, and by fire, will blench 
from my purpose for the outcries or screams of one single 
wretched Jew? — or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, 
who have neither law, country nor conscience, but their 
master^s will — who use the poison, or the stake, or the 
poniard, or the cord, at his slightest wink — thinkest thou 
that they will have mercy, who do not even understand the 
language in which it is asked? — Be wise, old man; discharge 
thyself of a portion of thy superfluous wealth; repay to the 
hands of a Christian a part of what thou hast acquired by 
the usury thou hast practised on those of his religion. Thy 
cunning may soon swell out once more thy shrivelled purse, 
but neither leech nor medicine can restore thy scorched hide 
and flesh wert thou once stretched on these bars. Tell down 
thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thou canst 
redeem thee from a dungeon, the secrets of which few have 
returned to tell. I waste no more words with thee — choose 
between thy dross and thy flesh and blood, and as thou 
choosest, so shall it be.” 

^^So may Abraham, Jacob, • and all the fathers of our 
people assist me,” said Isaac, cannot make the choice, 
because I have not the means of satisfying your exorbitant 
demand 1” 

Seize him and strip him, slaves,” said the knight, ^^and 
let the fathers of his race assist him if they can.” 

The assistants, taking their directions more from the 


212 


IVANHOE. 


Baron’s eye and his hand than his tongue, once more stepped 
forward, laid hands on the unfortunate Isaac, plucked him 
up from the ground, and, holding him between them, waited 
the hard-hearted Baron’s farther signal. The unhappy Jew 
eyed their countenances and that of Front-de-Boeuf, in hope 
of discovering some symptoms of relenting; but that of the 
Baron exhibited the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic 
smile which had been the prelude to his cruelty; and the 
savage eyes of the Saracens, rolling gloomily under their 
dark brows, acquiring a yet more sinister expression by the 
whiteness of the circle which surrounds the pupil, evinced 
rather the secret pleasure which they expected from the 
approaching scene, than any reluctance to be its directors or 
agents. The Jew then looked at the glowing furnace, over 
which he was presently to be stretched, and seeing no chance 
of his tormentor’s relenting, his resolution gave way. 

will pay,” he said, ^The thousand pounds of silver — 
That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, will pay it 
with the help of my brethren ; for I must beg as a mendicant 
at the door of our synagogue ere I make up so unheard-of 
a sum. — When and where must it be delivered?” 

‘^Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “here it must be delivered 
— weighed it must be — weighed and told down on this very 
dungeon floor. — Thinkest thou I will part with thee until 
thy ransom is secure?” 

“And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew, “that I 
shall be at liberty after this ransom is paid?” 

“The word of a FTorman noble, thou pawnbroking slave,” 
answered Front-de-Boeuf; “the faith of a Norman noble- 
man more pure than the gold and silver of thee and all thy 
tribe.” 

“I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac, timidly, “but 
wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of one who will 
trust nothing to mine?” 

“Because thou canst not help it, Jew,” said the knight, 
sternly. “Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamber at York, 
and were I craving a loan of thy shekels, it would be thine 
to dictate the time of payment, and the pledge of security. 
This is my treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at advan- 


IVANHOE. 


213 


tage, nor will I again deign to repeat the terms on which I 
grant thee liberty/^ 

The Jew groaned deeply. — ^^Grant me/’ he said, ^^at least 
with my own liberty, that of the companions with whom I 
travel. They scorned me as a Jew, yet they pitied my 
desolation, and because they tarried to aid me by the way, 
a share of my evil hath come upon them; moreover, they 
may contribute in some sort to my ransom.’^ 

‘Tf thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,^’ said Front-de- 
Boeuf, “their ransom will depend upon other terms than 
thine. Mind thine own concerns, Jew, I warn thee, and 
meddle not with those of others.^’ 

“I am, then,’’ said Isaac, “only to be set at liberty, 
together with mine wounded friend?” 

“Shall I twice recommend it,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “to 
a son of Israel, to meddle with his own concerns, and leave 
those of others alone? — Since thou hast made thy choice, 
it remains but that thou payest down thy ransom, and that 
at a short day.” 

“Yet hear me,” said the Jew — “for the sake of that very 
wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the expense of thy” — 
Here he stopt short, afraid of irritating the savage Norman. 
But Pront-de-Boeuf only laughed, and himself filled up the 
blank at which the Jew had hesitated. “At the expense of 
my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; speak it out — I tell 
thee, I am reasonable. I can bear the reproaches of a loser, 
even when that loser is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, 
Isaac, when thou didst invoke justice against Jacques Fitz- 
dotterel, for calling thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy 
exactions had devoured his patrimony.” 

“I swear by the Talmud,”^ said the Jew, “that your valour 
has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel drew his pon- 
iard upon me in mine own chamber, because I craved him 
for mine own silver. The term of payment was due at the 
Passover.” 

“I care not what he did,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “the ques- 
tion is, when shall I have mine own? — when shall I have 
the shekels, Isaac?” 


1 the body of Jewish civil and canonical law. 


314 


IVANHOE. 


^^Let my daughter Eebecca go forth to York/^ answered 
Isaac, ^Vith your safe-conduct, noble knight, and so soon 
as man and horse can return, the treasure” — Here he 
groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a few seconds, 
— ‘^The treasure shall be told down on this very floor.” 

^^Thy daughter!” said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised, — 
^^By heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this. I deemed 
that yonder black-browed girl had been thy concubine, and 
I gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert, after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of the days 
of old, who set us in these matters a wholesome example.” 

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communica- 
tion made the very vault to ring, and astounded the two 
Saracens so much that they let go their hold on the Jew. 
He availed himself of his enlargement to throw himself on 
the pavement, and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf. 

^‘Take all that you have asked,” said he, ^^Sir Knight — 
take ten times more — reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if 
thou wilt, — nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me on 
that furnace, but spare my daughter, deliver her in safety 
and honour! — As thou art born of woman spare the honour 
of a helpless maiden — She is the image of my deceased 
Eachel, she is the last of six pledges of her love — Will you 
deprive a widowed husband of his sole remaining comfort? 
— Will you reduce a father to wish that his only living child 
were laid beside her dead mother, in the tomb of our 
fathers ?” 

‘T would,” said the Norman somewhat relentingly, ^That 
I had known of this before. I thought your race had loved 
nothing save their money-bags.” 

^‘Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,” said 
Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent sympathy; 
‘The hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat loves its young — the 
despised and persecuted race of Abraham love their chil- 
dren !” 

“Be it so,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “I will believe it in 
future, Isaac, for thy very sake — but it aids us not now, I 
cannot help what has happened, or what is to follow; my 
word is passed to my comrade in arms, nor would I break 


IVANHOE. 


215 


it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Besides, why shouldst 
thon think evil is to come to the girl, even if she became 
Bois-Guilbert’s booty 

‘‘There will, there must!’^ exclaimed Isaac, wringing his 
hands in agony; “when did Templars breathe aught but 
cruelty to men, and dishonour to women !” 

“Dog of an infideV^ said Front-de-Boeuf, with sparkling 
eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext of working 
himself into a passion, “blaspheme not the Holy Order of 
the Temple of Zion, but take thought instead to pay me the 
ransom thou hast promised, or woe betide thy Jewish 
throat 

“Eobber and villain said the Jew, retorting the insults 
of his oppressor with passion, which, however impotent, he 
now found it impossible to bridle, “I will pay thee nothing 
— ^not one silver penny will I pay thee, unless my daughter 
is delivered to me in safety and honour!’^ 

“Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?’^ said the Norman, 
sternly — “has thy flesh and blood a charm against heated 
iron and scalding oil?’^ 

“I care not !” said the J ew, rendered desperate by paternal 
affection; “do thy worst. My daughter is my flesh and 
blood, dearer to me a thousand times than those limbs which 
thy cruelty threatens. No silver will I give thee, unless I 
were to pour it molten down thy avaricious throat — no, not 
a silver penny will I give thee, Nazarene, were it to save 
thee from the deep damnation thy whole life has merited! 
Take my life if thou wilt, and say, the Jew, amidst his 
tortures, knew how to disappoint the Christian.^^ 

“We shall see that,’^ said Front-de-Boeuf; “for by the 
blessed rood, which is the abomination of thy accursed 
tribe, thou shalt feel the extremities of Are and steel! — 
Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the bars.’^ 

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the 
Saracens had already torn from him his upper garment, 
and were proceeding totally to disrobe him, when the sound 
of a bugle, twice winded^ without the castle, penetrated even 
to the recesses of the dungeon, and immediately after loud 


(wind-ed) is here correctly used Wind, to blow, as a horn, is a regular verb. 


216 


IVANHOE. 


voices were heard calling for Sir Keginald Front-de-Boeuf. 
Unwilling to be found engaged in his hellish occupation, 
the savage Baron gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac’s 
garment, and, quitting the dungeon with his attendants, he 
left the Jew to thank God for his own deliverance, or to 
lament over his daughter’s captivity and probable fate, as 
his personal or parental feelings might prove strongest. 


CHAPTE 



AT TORQUILSTONE. ROWENA. DE BRACY. 


The apartment to which the Lady Kowena had been 
introduced was fitted up with some rude attempts at orna- 
ment and magnificence, and her being placed there might 
be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not offered to 
the other prisoners. But the wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for 
whom it had been originally furnished, was long dead, and 
decay and neglect had impaired the few ornaments with 
which her taste had adorned it. The tapestry hung down 
from the walls in many places, and in others was tarnished 
and faded under the effects of the sun, or tattered and 
decayed by age. Desolate, however, as it was, this was the 
apartment of the castle which had been judged most fitting 
for the accommodation of the Saxon heiress; and here she 
was left to meditate upon her fate, until the actors in this 
nefarious drama had arranged the several parts which each 
of them was to perform. This had been settled in a council 
held by Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, 
after a long and warm debate concerning the several advan- 
tages which each insisted upon deriving from his peculiar 
share in this audacious enterprise, they had at length deter- 
mined the fate of their unhappy prisoners. 

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De Bracy, 
for whose advantage the expedition had been first planned, 
appeared to prosecute his views upon the hand and posses- 
sions of the Lady Kowena. 

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding 


IVANHOE. 


217 


council with his confederates, for De Bracy had found 
leisure to decorate his person with all the foppery of the 
times. His green cassock and vizard were now flung aside. 
His long luxuriant hair was trained to flow in quaint tresses 
down his richly-furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved, 
his doublet reached to the middle of his leg, and the girdle 
which secured it, and at the same time supported his pon- 
derous sword, was embroidered and embossed with gold 
work. We have already noticed the extravagant fashion 
of the shoes at this period, and the points of Maurice De 
Bracy’s might have challenged the prize of extravagance 
with the gayest, being turned up and twisted like the horns 
of a ram. Such was the dress of a gallant of the period; 
and, in the present instance, that effect was aided by the 
handsome person and good demeanour of the wearer, whose 
manners partook alike of the grace of a courtier, and the 
frankness of a soldier. 

He saluted Eowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, garnished 
with a golden brooch, representing St. MichaeB trampling 
down the Prince of Evil. With this, he gently motioned 
the lady to a seat; and, as she still retained her standing 
posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, and motioned 
to conduct her thither. But Eowena declined, by her 
gesture, the proffered compliment, and replied, ‘^If I be in 
the presence of my jailor. Sir Knight — nor will circum- 
stances allow me to think otherwise — it best becomes his 
prisoner to remain standing till she learns her doom.” 

‘‘Alas! fair Eowena,” returned De Bracy, “you are in the 
presence of your captive, not your jailor; and it is from 
your fair eyes that De Bracy must receive that doom which 
you fondly expect from him.” 

“I know you not, sir,” said the lady, drawing herself up 
with all the pride of offended rank and beauty; “I know 
you not — and the insolent familiarity with which you apply 
to me the jargon of a troubadour forms no apology for the 
violence of a robber.” 

“To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in his 
former tone — “to thine own charms be ascribed whatever I 

1 St. Michael is represented in the before God (Daniel xii: 1), and M war- 
Scripturesas the patron of the Hebrews ring against Satan (Revelation xii: 7, 9). 


218 


IVANHOE. 


have done which passed the respect due to her, whom I have 
chosen queen of my heart, and loadstar of my eyes.” 

repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and 
that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude 
himself upon the presence of an unprotected lady.” 

‘‘That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “is indeed 
my misfortune; yet let me hope that De Bracy’s name has 
not been always unspoken, when minstrels or heralds have 
praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the lists or in the 
battle-field.” 

“To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise. Sir 
Kjiight,” replied Eowena, “more suiting for their mouths 
than for thine own; and tell me which of them shall record 
in song, or in book of tourney, the memorable conquest of 
this night, a conquest obtained over an old man, followed 
by a few timid hinds; and its booty, an unfortunate maiden^ 
transported against her will to the castle of a robber?” 

“You are unjust. Lady Eowena,” said the knight, biting 
his lips in some confusion, and speaking in a tone more 
natural to him than that of affected gallantry, which he 
had at first adopted; “yourself free from passion, you can 
allow no excuse for the frenzy of another, although caused 
by your own beauty.” 

“I pray you. Sir Knight,” said Eowena, “to cease a lan- 
guage so commonly used by strolling minstrels, that it 
becomes not the mouth of knights or nobles. Certes, you 
constrain me to sit down, since you enter upon such com- 
monplace terms, of which each vile crowder^ hath a stock 
that might last from hence to Christmas.” 

“Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at finding his 
gallant style procured him nothing but contempt — “proud 
damsel, thou shalt be as proudly encountered. Know then, 
that I have supported my pretensions to your hand in the 
way that best suited thy character. It is meeter for thy 
humour to be wooed with bow and bill, than in set terms, 
and in courtly language.” 

“Courtesy of tongue,” said Eowena, “when it is used to 
veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle around 


1 player upon a crowd, an ancient violin-like instrument used in Ireland and Wales. 


IVANHOE. 


2^19 


the breast of a base clown. I wonder not that the restraint 
appears to gall yon — ^more it were for your honour to have 
retained the dress and language of an outlaw, than to veil 
the deeds of one under an affectation of gentle language and 
demeanour.’’ 

“You counsel well, lady,” said the Norman; “and in the 
bold language which best justifies bold action, I tell thee, 
thou shalt never leave this castle, or thou shalt leave it as 
Maurice de Bracy’s wife. I am not wont to be baffled in 
my enterprises, nor needs a Norman noble scrupulously to 
vindicate his conduct to the Saxon maiden whom he distin- 
guishes by the offer of his hand. Thou art proud, Eowena, 
and thou art the fitter to be my wife. By what other 
means couldst thou be raised to high honour and to princely 
place, saving by my alliance? How else wouldst thou escape 
from the mean precincts of a country grange, where Saxons 
herd with the swine which form their wealth, to take thy 
seat, honoured as thou shouldst be, and shalt be, amid all 
in England that is distinguished by beauty, or dignified by 
power ?” 

“Sir Knight,” replied Eowena, “the grange which you 
contemn hath been my shelter from infancy; and, trust me, 
when I leave it — should that day ever arrive — it shall be 
with one who has not learnt to despise the dwelling and 
manners in which I have been brought up.” 

“I guess your meaning, lady,” said De Bracy, “though 
you may think it lies too obscure for my apprehension. But 
dream not that Eichard Coeur-de-Lion will ever resume his 
throne, far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his minion, will 
ever lead thee to his footstool, to be there welcomed as the 
bride of a favourite. Another suitor might feel jealousy 
while he touched this string; but my firm purpose cannot 
be changed by a passion so childish and so hopeless. Einow, 
lady, that his rival is in my power, and that it rests but 
with me to betray the secret of his being within the castle 
to Front-de-Boeuf, whose jealousy will be more fatal than 
mine.” 

“Wilfred here?” said Eowena, in disdain; “that is as true 
as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.” 


220 


IVANHOE. 


De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant. ^^Wert 
thou really ignorant of this?’^ said he; ^^didst thou not 
know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in the litter of the 
Jew? — a meet conveyance for the crusader, whose doughty 
arm was to reconquer the Holy Sepulchre V’ And he laughed 
scornfully. 

^^And if he is here/^ said Kowena, compelling herself to 
a tone of indifference, though trembling with an agony of 
apprehension which she could not suppress, ‘^‘in what is he 
the rival of Front-de-Boeuf ? or what has he to fear beyond 
a short imprisonment, and an honourable ransom, according 
to the use of chivalry?” 

^^Eowena,” said De Bracy, ^^art thou, too, deceived by the 
common error of thy sex, who think there can be no rivalry 
hut that respecting their own charms? Knowest thou not 
there is a jealousy of ambition and of wealth, as well as of 
love; and that this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, will push from 
his road him who opposes his claim to the fair barony of 
Ivanhoe, as readily, eagerly, and unscrupulously, as if he 
were preferred to him by some blue-eyed damsel? But smile 
on my suit, lady, and the wounded champion shall have 
nothing to fear from Front-de-Boeuf, whom else thou mayst 
mourn for, as in the hands of one who has never shown 
compassion.” 

^^Save him for the love of Heaven!” said Eowena, her 
firmness giving way under terror for her lover’s impending 
fate. 

can — I will — it is my purpose,” said De Bracy; ^%r, 
when Eowena consents to be the bride of De Bracy, who 
is it shall dare to put forth a violent hand upon her kins- 
man — the son of her guardian — the companion of her youth? 
But it is thy love must buy his protection. I am not romantic 
fool enough to further the fortune, or avert the fate, of one 
who is likely to be a successful obstacle between me and my 
wishes. Use thine influence with me in his behalf, and he is 
safe, — refuse to employ it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyself art 
not the nearer to freedom.” 

^^Thy language,” answered Eowena, ^^hath in its indif- 
ferent bluntness something which cannot be reconciled with 


IVANHOE. 


2^21 


the horrors it seems to express. I believe not that thy pur- 
pose is so wicked, or thy power so great.^^ 

^Tlatter thyself, then, with that belief,’’ said De Bracy, 
^'until time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded in 
this castle — thy preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt Front- 
de-Boeuf and that which Front-de-Boeuf loves better than 
either ambition or beauty. What will it cost beyond the 
blow of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, to silence his 
opposition forever? Hay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid to 
justify a deed so open, let the leech but give his patient a 
wrong draught — let the chamberlain, or the nurse who 
tends him, but pluck the pillow from his head, and Wilfred, 
in his present condition, is sped without the effusion of 
blood. Cedric also — ” 

‘^And Cedric also,” said Eowena, repeating his words; 
^‘my noble — my generous guardian ! I deserved the evil I 
have encountered, for forgetting his fate even in that of 
his son!” 

^^Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,” said 
De Bracy; ^^and I leave thee to form it.” 

Hitherto, Eowena had sustained her part in this trying 
scene with undismayed courage, but it was because she had 
not considered the danger as serious and imminent. Her 
disposition was naturally that which physiognomists consider 
as proper to fair complexions, mild, timid, and gentle; but 
it had been tempered, and, as it were, hardened, by the cir- 
cumstances of her education. Accustomed to see the will 
of all, even of Cedric himself, (sufficiently arbitrary with 
others,) give way before her wishes, she had acquired the 
sort of courage and self-confidence which arises from the 
habitual and constant deference of the circle in which we 
move. She could scarce conceive the possibility of her will 
being opposed, far less that of its being treated with total 
disregard. 

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, therefore, 
a fictitious character, induced over that which was natural 
to her, and it deserted her when her eyes were opened to 
the extent of her own danger, as well as that of her lover, 
and her guardian ; and when she found her will, the slightest 


222 


IVANHOE. 


expression of which was wont to command respect and 
attention, now placed in opposition to that of a man of a 
strong, fierce, and determined mind, who possessed the 
advantage over her, and was resolved to nse it, she quailed 
before him. 

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid 
which was nowhere to be found, and after a few broken 
interjections, she raised her hands to heaven, and burst into 
a passion of uncontrolled vexation and sorrow. It was 
impossible to see so beautiful a creature in such extremity 
without feeling for her, and De Bracy was not unmoved, 
though he was yet more embarrassed than touched. He had, 
in truth, gone too far to recede ; and yet, in Rowena’s 
present condition, she could not be acted on either by 
arguments or threats. He paced the apartment to and fro, 
now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden to compose her- 
self, now hesitating concerning his own line of conduct. 

If, thought he, I should be moved by the tears and sorrow 
of this disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but the loss 
of those fair hopes for which I have encountered so much 
risk, and the ridicule of Prince John and his jovial com- 
rades? ^^And yeV^ he said to himself, feel myself ill 
framed for the part which I am playing. I cannot look 
on ‘^0 fair a face while it is disturbed with agony, or on 
those eyes when they are drowned in tears. I would she had 
retained her original haughtiness of disposition, or that I 
had a larger share of Front-de-Boeuf’s thrice-tempered 
hardness of heart 

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the unfortu- 
nate Rowena be comforted, and assure her, that as yet she 
had no reason for the excess of despair to which she was 
now giving way. But in this task of consolation De Bracy 
was interrupted by the horn, ^‘hoarse-winded blowing far 
and keen,” which had at the same time alarmed the other 
inmates of the castle, and interrupted their several plans of 
avarice and of license. Of them all, perhaps, De Bracy 
least regretted the interruption; for his conference with 
the Lady Rowena had arrived at a point where he found it 
equally difficult to prosecute or to resign his enterprise. 


IVANHOE. 


223 


And here we cannot bnt think it necessary to offer some 
better proof than the incidents of an idle tale, to vindicate 
the melancholy representation of manners which has been 
just laid before the reader.^ It is grievous to think that 
those valiant barons, to whose stand against the crown the 
liberties of England were indebted for their existence, 
should themselves have been such dreadful oppressors, and 
capable of excesses contrary not only to the laws of England, 
but to those of nature and humanity. But alas! we have 
only to extract from the industrious Henry one of those 
numerous passages which he had collected from con- 
temporary historians, to prove that fiction itself can hardly 
reach the dark reality of the horrors of the period. 

The description given by the author of the Saxon 
Chronicle of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King 
Stephen by the great barons and lords of castles, who were 
all Normans, affords a strong proof of the excesses of which 
they were capable when their passions were inflamed. ^‘They 
grievously oppressed the poor people by building castles; 
and when they were built, they filled them with wicked men, 
or rather devils, who seized both men and women who they 
imagined had any money, threw them into prison, and 
put them to more cruel tortures than the martyrs ever 
endured. They suffocated some in mud, and suspended 
others by the feet, or the head, or the thumbs, kindling fires 
below them. They squeezed the heads of some with knotted 
cords till they pierced their brains, while they threw others 
into dungeons swarming with serpents, snakes, and toads.’^ 
But it would be cruel to put the reader to the pain of 
perusing the remainder of this description. 

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, and 
perhaps the strongest that can be quoted, we may mention 
that the Princess Matilda, though a daughter of the King 
of Scotland, and afterwards both Queen of England, 
niece to Edgar Atheling, and mother to the Empress of 
Germany, the daughter, the wife and the mother of mon- 
archs, was obliged, during her early residence for education 

* In the story as first completed, this shows by reference to standard writers, 
chapter ended with the previous para- that the dark colors in which he depicted 
graphs. In these added paragraphs, Scott the Normanbarons were not exaggerated. 


224 


IVANHOE. 


in England, to assume the veil of a nun, as the only means 
of escaping the licentious pursuit of the Norman nobles. 
This excuse she stated before a great council of the clergy 
of England, as the sole reason for her having taken the 
religious habit. The assembled clergy admitted the validity 
of the plea, and the notoriety of the circumstances upon 
which it was founded, giving thus an indubitable and most 
remarkable testimony to the existence of that disgraceful 
license by which that age was stained. It was a matter of 
public knowledge, they said, that after the conquest of 
King William, his Norman followers, elated by so great a 
victory, acknowledged no law but their own wicked pleasure, 
and not only despoiled the conquered Saxons of their lands 
and their goods, but invaded the honour of their wives and 
of their daughters with the most unbridled license; and 
hence it was then common for matrons and maidens of 
noble families to assume the veil, and take shelter in con- 
vents, not as called thither by the vocation of God, but 
solely to preserve their honour from the unbridled wicked- 
ness of man. 

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced by 
the public declaration of the assembled clergy, recorded by 
Eadmer; and we need add nothing more to vindicate the 
probability of the scenes which we have detailed, and are 
about to detail, upon the more apocryphal authority of the 
War dour MS. 


CHAPTEE XXIV 

AT TORQUILSTONE. REBECCA. URFRIED. BOIS-GUILBERT. 

While the scenes we have described were passing in 
other parts of the castle, the Jewess. Eebecca awaited her 
fate in a distant and sequestered turret. Hither she had 
been led by two of her disguised ravishers, and on being 
thrust into the little cell, she found herself in the presence 
of an old sibyl, who kept murmuring to herself .a Saxon 
rh3rme, as if to beat time to the revolving dance which her 


IVANHOE. 


2f25 


spindle^ was performing upon the floor. The hag raised her 
head as Eebecca entered, and scowled at the fair Jewess 
with the malignant envy with which old age and ugliness, 
when united with evil conditions, are apt to look upon youth 
and beauty. 

^‘Thou must up and away, old house-cricket,’^ said one 
of the men; ^^our noble master commands it — Thou must 
leave this chamber to a fairer guest.” 

^^Ay,” grumbled the hag, “even thus is service requited. 
I have known when my bare word would have cast the best 
nfan-at-arms among ye out of saddle and out of service; 
and now must I up and away at the command of every 
groom such as thou.” 

“Good Dame TJrfried,” said the other man, “stand not 
to reason on it, but up and away. Lords’ hest^ must be 
listened to with a quick ear. Thou hast had thy day, old 
dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now the 
very emblem of an old war-horse turned out on the barren 
heath — thou hast had thy paces in thy time, but now a 
broken amble is the best of them — Come, amble off with 
' thee.” 

“Ill omens dog ye both !” said the old woman ; “and a 
kennel be your burying-place ! May the evil demon Zerne- 
bock^ tear me limb from limb, if I leave my own cell ere I 
have spun out the hemp of my distaff!” 

“Answer it to our lord, then, old house-fiend,” said the 
man, and retired, leaving Eebecca in company with the old 
woman, upon whose presence she had been thus unwillingly 
forced. 

“What devil’s deed have they now in the wind?” said the 
old hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time to time 
casting a sidelong and malignant glance at Eebecca; ^Tut 
it is easy to guess — Bright eyes, black locks, and a skin like 
paper, ere the priest stains it with his black unguent — Ay, 
it is easy to guess why they send her to this lone turret, 
whence a shriek could no more be heard than at the depth 
of live hundred fathoms beneath the earth. — Thou wilt have 

* a rod on which was wound the thread holding the bunch of flax or wool, 
from the distaff in hand weaving. The * behests, commands. 

“distaff” was the rotating vertical staff ® name of a Scandinavian deity. 


226 


IVANHOE. 


owls for thy neighbours, fair one; and their screams will 
be heard as far, and as much regarded, as thine own. Out- 
landish, too,” she said, marking the dress and turban of 
Eebecca — ‘‘What country art thou of — a Saracen? or an 
Egyptian? — Why dost not answer? — thou canst weep, canst 
thou not speak?” 

“Be not angry, good mother,” said Eebecca. 

“Thou needest say no more,” replied Urfried; “men know 
a fox by the train, and a Jewess by her tongue.” 

“For the sake of mercy,” said Eebecca, “tell me what I 
am to expect as the conclusion of the violence which h^th 
dragged me hither ! Is it my life they seek, to atone for 
my religion? I will lay it down cheerfully.” 

“Thy life, minion !” answered the sibyl ; “what would 
taking thy life pleasure them? — Trust me, thy life is in no 
peril. Such usage shalt thou have as was once thought good 
enough for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall a Jewess, 
like thee, repine because she hath no better? Look at me 
— I was as young and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de- 
Boeuf, father of this Eeginald, and his Normans, stormed 
this castle. My father and his seven sons defended their^ 
inheritance from story to story, from chamber to chamber 
— There was not a room, not a step of the stair, that was 
not slippery with their blood. They died — they died every 
man; and ere their bodies were cold, and ere their blood was 
dried, I had become the prey and the scorn of the con- 
queror !” 

“Is there no help? — Are there no means of escape?” said 
Eebecca — “Eichly, richly would I requite thine aid.” 

“Think not of it,” said the hag; “from hence there is 
no escape but through the gates of death; and it is late, 
late,” she added, shaking her grey head, “ere these open to 
us — Yet it is comfort to think that we leave behind us on 
earth those who shall be wretched as ourselves. Fare thee 
well, J ewess ! — J ew or Gentile, thy fate would be the same ; 
for thou hast to do with them that have neither scruple nor 
pity. Fare thee well, I say. My thread is spun out — thy 
task is yet to begin.” 

“Stay! stay! for Heaven’s sake!” said Eebecca; “stay, 


IVANHOE. 


2:27 


though it be to curse and to revile me — thy presence is yet 
some protection/^ 

^‘The presence of the mother of God were no protection/^ 
answered the old woman. ^^There she stands,” pointing to 
a rude image of the Virgin Mary, “see if she can avert the 
fate that awaits thee.” 

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into 
a sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem even more 
hideous than their habitual frown. She locked the door 
behind her, and Eebecca might hear her curse every step 
for its steepness, as slowly and with difficulty she descended 
the turret stairs. 

Eebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful 
than that of Eowena; for what probability was there that 
either softness or ceremony would be used towards one of 
her oppressed race, whatever shadow of these might be pre- 
served towards a Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jewess this 
advantage, that she was better prepared by habits of thought^ 
and by natural strength of mind, to encounter the dangers 
to which she was exposed. Of a strong and observing char- 
acter, even from her earliest years, the pomp and wealth 
which her father displayed within his walls, or which she 
witnessed in the houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not 
been able to blind her to the precarious circumstances under 
which they were enjoyed. Like Damocles^ at his celebrated 
banquet, Eebecca perpetually beheld, amid that gorgeous 
display, the sword which was suspended over the heads of 
her people by a single hair. These reflections had tamed 
and brought down to a pitch of sounder judgment a tem- 
per, which, under other circumstances, might have waxed 
haughty, supercilious, and obstinate. 

From her father’s examples and injunctions, Eebecca had 
learnt to bear herself courteously towards all who ap- 
proached her. She could not indeed imitate his excess of 
subservience, because she was a stranger to the meanness of 
mind, and to the constant state of timid apprehension, by 
which it was dictated; but she bore herself with a proud 
humility, as if submitting to the evil circumstances in which 

» a courtier of ancient Syracuse: in- Elder, and compelled to sit beneath a 
vited to a banquet by Dionysius, the sword suspended by a single thread. 


228 


IVANHOE. 


she was placed as the daughter of a despised race, while she 
felt in her mind the consciousness that she was entitled to 
hold a higher rank from her merit, than the arbitrary des- 
potism of religious prejudice permitted her to aspire to. 

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had 
acquired the firmness necessary for acting imder them. Her 
present situation, required all her presence of mind, and 
she summoned it up accordingly. 

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it 
afforded few hopes either of escape or protection. It con- 
tained neither secret passage nor trap-door, and unless where 
the door by which she had entered joined the main building, 
seemed to be circumscribed by the round exterior wall of 
the turret. The door had no inside bolt or bar. The single 
window opened upon an embattled space surmounting the 
turret, which gave Eebecca, at first sight, some hopes of 
escaping; but she soon found it had no communication with 
any other part of the battlements, being an isolated bartizan, 
or balcony, secured, as usual, by a parapet, with embrasures^^ 
at which a few archers might be stationed for defending the 
turret, and banking with their shot the wall of the castle 
on that side. 

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, 
and in that strong reliance on Heaven natural to great and 
generous characters. Eebecca, however erroneously taught 
to interpret the promises of Scripture to the chosen people 
of Heaven, did not err in supposing the present to be their 
hour of trial, or in trusting that the children of Zion would 
be one day called in with the fulness of the Gentiles. In 
the meanwhile, all around her showed that their present 
state was that of punishment and probation, and that it 
was their special duty to suffer without sinning. Thus 
prepared to consider herself as the victim of misfortune, 
Eebecca had early reflected upon her own state, and schooled 
her mind to meet the dangers which she had probably to 
encounter. 

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, when 
a step was heard on the stair, and the door of the turret- 

1 breast-high wall with openings in it for archers to shoot through. 


IVANHOE. 


2^29 


chamber slowly opened, and a tall man, dressed as one of 
those banditti to whom they owed their misfortune, slowly 
entered, and shut the door behind him; his cap, pulled down 
upon his brows, concealed the upper part of his face, and he 
held his mantle in such a manner as to muffle the rest. In 
this guise, as if prepared for tho execution of some deed, 
at the thought of which he was himself ashamed, he stood 
before the affrighted prisoner; yet, ruffian as his dress 
bespoke him, he seemed at a loss to express what purpose 
had brought him thither, so that Kebecca, making an effort 
upon herself, had time to anticipate his explanation. She 
had already unclasped two costly bracelets and a collar, 
which she hastened to proffer to the supposed outlaw, con- 
cluding naturally that to gratify his avarice was to bespeak 
his favour. 

^‘Take these,^^ she said, ‘^good friend, and for God’s sake 
be merciful to me and my aged father! These ornaments 
are of value, yet are they trifling to what he would bestow 
to obtain our dismissal from this castle, free and uninjured.” 

‘‘Fair flower of Palestine,” replied the outlaw, “these 
pearls are orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; 
the diamonds are brilliant, but they cannot match your 
eyes; and ever since I have taken up this wild trade, I have 
made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth.” 

“Do not do yourself such wrong,” said Eebecca; “take 
ransom, and have mercy! — Gold will purchase you pleasure, 
— to misuse us, could only bring thee remorse. My father 
will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and if thou wilt 
act wisely, thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy restora- 
tion to civil society — mayst obtain pardon for past errors, 
and be placed beyond the necessity of committing more.” 

“It is well spoken,” replied the outlaw in French, finding 
it difficult probably to sustain, in Saxon, a conversation 
which Eebecca had opened in that language; “but know, 
bright lily of the vale of Baca !’^ that thy father is already 
in the hands of a powerful alchemist, who knows how to 
convert into gold and silver even the rusty bars of a dungeon 
grate. The venerable Isaac is subjected to an alembic, 
which will distil from him all he holds dear, without any 

1 a sterile valley in Palestine. Psalna Ixxxiv; 6. 


230 


IVANHOE. 


assistance from my requests or thy entreaty. Thy ransom 
must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other coin will 
I accept it.’^ 

‘^Thou art no outlaw/^ said Eebecca, in the same language 
in which he addressed her; ^^no outlaw had refused such 
offers. No outlaw in this land uses the dialect in which thou 
hast spoken. Thou art no outlaw, but a Norman — a Nor- 
man, noble perhaps in birth — 0, be so in thy actions, and 
cast off this fearful mask of outrage and violence V’ 

^^And thou, who canst guess so truly,’’ said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, dropping the mantle from his face, ^^art no 
true daughter of Israel, but in all, save youth and beauty, 
a very witch of Endor. I am not an outlaw, then, fair rose 
of Sharon.^ And I am one who will be more prompt to 
hang thy neck and arms with pearls and diamonds, which so 
well become them, than to deprive thee of these ornaments.” 

‘^What wouldst thou have of me,” said Eebecca, “if not 
my wealth? — We can have nought in common between us — 
you are a Christian — I am a Jewess. — Our union were con- 
trary to the laws, alike to the church and to the synagogue.” 

“It were so, indeed,” replied the Templar, laughing; 
^Ved with a Jewess? Despardieux ! — Not if she were the 
Queen of Sheba And know, besides, sweet daughter of 
Zion, that were the most Christian king to offer me his most 
Christian daughter, with Languedoc for a dowry, I could 
not wed her. It is against my vow to love any maiden, 
otherwise than par amours, as I will love thee. I am a 
Templar. Behold the cross of my Holy Order.” 

“Barest thou appeal to it,” said Eebecca, “on an occasion 
like the present?” 

“And if I do so,” said the Templar, “it concerns not thee, 
who art no believer in the blessed sign of our salvation.” 

“I believe as my fathers taught,” said Eebecca; “and 
may God forgive my belief if erroneous! But you. Sir 
Knight, what is yours, when you appeal without scruple to 
that which you deem most holy, even while you are about 
to transgress the most solemn of your vows as a knight, 
and as a man of religion?” 

* a sea-coast district of Palestine fa- 2 a wealthy region in Arabia on the 
mous for its roses. Song of Solomon Red Sea, whose queen visited Solomon, 
ii: 1. II Chronicles ix: 1 - 12. 


IVANHOE. 


231 


is gravely and well preached, 0 daughter of Sirach!’^^ 
answered the Templar ; ^Tut, gentle Ecclesiastica,^ thy 
narrow Jewish prejudices make thee blind to our high 
privilege. Marriage were an enduring crime on the part 
of a Templar; but what lesser folly I may practise, I shall 
speedily be absolved from at the next Preceptory of our 
Order. Not the wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose 
examples you must needs allow are weighty, claimed wider 
privileges than we poor soldiers of the Temple of Zion have 
won by our zeal in its defence. The protectors of Solomon^s 
Temple may claim license by the example of Solomon.” 

^Tf thou readest the Scripture,” said the Jewess, ^^and 
the lives of the saints, only to justify thine own license and 
profligacy, thy crime is like that of him who extracts poison 
from the most healthful and necessary herbs.” 

The eyes of the Templar flashed Are at this reproof. — 
'^Hearken,” he said, ‘‘Eebecca; I have hitherto spoken 
mildly to thee, but now my language shall be that of a 
conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow and spear — 
subject to my will by the laws of all nations; nor will T 
abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by vio- 
lence what thou refusest to entreaty or necessity.” 

^‘Stand back,” said Eebecca — ‘^stand back, and hear me 
ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly ! My strength 
thou mayst indeed overpower, for God made women weak, 
and trusted their defence to man^s generosity. But I will 
proclaim thy villainy. Templar, from one end of Europe to 
the other. I will owe to the superstition of thy brethren 
what their compassion might refuse me. Each Preceptory 
— each Chapter of thy Order, shall learn, that, like a heretic, 
thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those who tremble not at 
thy crime, will hold thee accursed for having so far dis- 
honoured the cross thou wearest, as to follow a daughter of 
my people.” 

^^Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Templar, 
well aware of the truth of what she spoke, and that the 
rules of his Order condemned in the most'' positive manner, 

* Ecclesiasticus, one of the fourteen form of the Templar’s address in replying 
Old Testament Apocryphal books, was to the words in which Rebecca had “well 
compiled by the “son of Sirach.” Evi- preached” to him; he calls her Eccfesias- 
dently it was this that suggested the tica, daughter of Sirach. 


232 


IVANHOE. 


and under high penalties, such intrigues as he now prose- 
cuted, and that, in some instances, even degradation had 
followed upon it — ^^thou art sharp-witted,^^ he said ; ‘^but loud 
must be thy voice of complaint, if it is heard beyond the 
iron walls of this castle; within these, murmurs, laments, 
appeals to justice, and screams for help, die alike silent 
away. One thing only can save thee, Eebecca. Submit to 
thy fate — embrace our religion, and thou shalt go forth in 
such state, that many a Norman lady shall yield as well 
in pomp as in beauty to the favourite of the best lance 
among the defenders of the Temple.” 

^^Submit to my fate !” said Eebecca — ^^and, sacred 
Heaven! to what fate? — embrace thy religion! and what 
religion can it be that harbours such a villain ?^ — thou the 
best lance of the Templars ! — Craven knight ! — forsworn 
priest! I spit at thee, and I defy thee. — The God of 
Abraham’s promise hath opened an escape to his daughter 
— even from this abyss of infamy!” 

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which 
led to the bartizan, and in an instant after stood on the 
very verge of the parapet, with not the slightest screen 
between her and the tremendous depth below. Unprepared 
for such a desperate effort, for she had hitherto stood per- 
fectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither time to intercept 
nor to stop her. As he offered to advance, she exclaimed, 
‘^Eemain where thou art, proud Templar, or at thy choice 
advance! — one foot nearer, and I plunge myself from the 
precipice; my body shall be crushed out of the very form 
of humanity upon the stones of that court-yard, ere it 
becomes the victim of thy brutality!” 

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended 
them towards heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul 
before she made the final plunge. The Templar hesitated, 
and a resolution which had never yielded to pity or distress, 
gave way to his admiration of her fortitude. ^^Come down,” 
he said, ^Tash girl! — I swear by earth, and sea, and sky, I 
will offer thee no offence.” 

“I will not trust thee, Templar,” said Eebecca; ^Thou 
hast taught me better how to estimate the virtues of thine 
Order. The next Preceptory would grant thee absolution 


IVANHOE. 


233 


for an oath, the keeping of which concerned nought but the 
honour or the dishonour of a miserable Jewish maiden/^ 

‘^You do me injustice/’ exclaimed the Templar, fervently, 
swear to you by the name which I bear — ^by the cross on 
my bosom — ^by the sword on my side — by the ancient crest 
of my fathers do I swear, I will do thee no injury whatso- 
ever ! If not for thyself, yet for thy father’s sake forbear ! 
I will be his friend, and in this castle he will need a powerful 
one.” 

^^Alas!” said Eebecca, know it but too well — dare I 
trust thee?” 

“May my arms be reversed, and my name dishonoured,” 
said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “if thou shalt have reason to 
complain of me ! Many a law, many a commandment have 
I broken, but my word never.” 

“I will then trust thee,” said Eebecca, “thus far;” and she 
descended from the verge of the battlement, but remained 
standing close by one of the embrasures, or machicolles as 
they were then called. — “Here,” she said, “I will take my 
stand. Eemain where thou art, and if thou shalt attempt to 
diminish by one step the distance now between us, thou shalt 
see that the Jewish maiden will rather trust her soul with 
God, than her honour to the Templar !” 

While Eebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, 
which corresponded so well with the expressive beauty of 
her countenance, gave to her looks, air, and manner, a 
dignity that seemed more than mortal. Her glance quailed 
not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a fate so instant 
and so horrible; on the contrary, the thought that she had 
her fate at her command, and could escape at will from 
infamy to death, gave a yet deeper colour of carnation to 
her complexion, and yet a more brilliant fire to her eye. 
Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and high-spirited, thought he 
had never beheld beauty so animated and so commanding. 

“Let there be peace between us, Eebecca,” he said. 

“Peace, if thou wilt,” answered Eebecca — “peace — but with 
this space between.” 

“Thou needst no longer fear me,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“I fear thee not,” replied she, “thanks to him that reared 


234 


IVANHOE. 


this dizzy tower so high, that nought could fall from it and 
live — thanks to him, and to the God of Israel ! — I fear thee 
not.” 

^^Thou dost me injustice,” said the Templar; ^^y earth,, 
sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally 
that which you have seen me, hard, selfish, and relentless. 
It was woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman there- 
fore I have exercised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear 
me, Eebecca. — Never did knight take lance in his hand with 
a heart more devoted to the lady of his love than Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert. She, the daughter of a petty baron, who' 
boasted for all his domains but a ruinous tower, and an 
unproductive vineyard, and some few leagues of the barren 
Landes of Bourdeaux, her name was known wherever deeds, 
of arms were done, known wider than that of many a lad/s 
that had a county for a dowry. — ^Yes,” he continued, pac- 
ing up and down the little platform, with an animation in 
which he seemed to lose all consciousness of Eebecca’s pres- 
ence — ^‘Yes, my deeds, my danger, my blood, made the 
name of Adelaide de Montemare known from the court of 
Castile to that of Byzantium. And how was I requited? — 
When I returned with my dear-bought honours, purchased 
by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon squire,, 
whose name was never heard beyond the limits of his own 
paltry domain ! Truly did I love her, and bitterly did I 
revenge me of her broken faith! But my vengeance has 
recoiled on myself. Since that day I have separated myself 
from life and its ties — My manhood must know no domestic 
¥ home — must be soothed by no affectionate wife — My age 
must know no kindly hearth — ^my grave must be solitary, and 
no offspring must outlive me, to bear the ancient name of 
Bois-Guilbert. At the feet of my Superior I have laid 
down the right of self-action — the privilege of independence. 
The Templar, a serf in all but the name, can possess neither 
lands nor goods, and lives, moves, and breathes, but at the 
will and pleasure of another.” 

^^Alas !” said Eebecca, ^Vhat advantages could compensate 
for such an absolute sacrifice?” 

"^^The power of vengeance, Eebecca,” replied the Templar, 
‘^and the prospects of ambition.” 


IVANHOE. 


2^35 


evil recompense/’ said Eebecca, ^^for the surrender 
.of the rights which are dearest to humanity.” 

^‘Say not so, maiden/’ answered the Templar; ^^revenge 
is a feast for the gods ! And if they have reserved it, as 
priests tell us, to themselves, it is because they hold it an 
onjoyment too precious for the possession of mere mortals. 
— And ambition? it is a temptation which could disturb 
even the bliss of heaven itself.” — He paused a moment, and 
then added, ‘‘Eebecca! she who could prefer death to dis- 
honour, must have a proud and a powerful soul. Mine 
thou must be ! — Nay/ start not,” he added, ^ht must be with 
thine own consent, and on thine own terms. Thou must 
consent to share with me hopes more extended than can be 
viewed from the throne of a monarch! — Hear me ere you 
answer, and judge ere you refuse. — The Templar loses, as 
thou hast said, his social rights, his power of free agency, 
but he becomes a member and a limb of a mighty body, 
before which thrones already tremble, — even as the single 
drop of rain which mixes with the sea becomes an individual 
part of that resistless ocean, which undermines rocks and 
engulfs royal armadas.^ Such a swelling flood is that power- 
ful league. Of this mighty Order I am no mean member, 
but already one of the Chief Commanders, and may well 
aspire one day to hold the batoon of Grand Master. The 
poor soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot 
upon the necks of kings — a hemp-sandall’d monk can do 
that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne — our gaunt- 
let shall wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not the 
reign of your vainly-expected Messiah offers such power 
to your dispersed tribes as my ambition may aim at. I 
have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and I have 
found such in thee.” 

^^Sayest thou this to one of my people ?” answered Eebecca. 
^^Bethink thee — ” 

‘‘Answer me not,” said the Templar, “by urging the 
difference of our creeds; within our secret conclaves we hold 
these nursery tales in derision. Think not we long remained 
blind to the idiotical folly of our founders, who forswore 

* referring to the destruction by a expedition, the “ Invincible Armada, ” 
violent storm of the great Spanish naval sent against England in 1588. 


236 


IVANHOE. 


every delight of life for the pleasure of dying martyrs by 
hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of 
savages, while they vainly strove to defend a barren desert, 
valuable only in the eyes of superstition. Our Order soon 
adopted bolder and wider views, and found out a better in- 
demnification for our sacrifices. Our immense possessions 
in every kingdom of Europe, our high military fame, which 
brings within our circle the flower of chivalry from every 
Christian clime — these are dedicated to ends of which our 
pious founders little dreamed, and which are equally con- 
cealed from such weak spirits as embrace our Order on the 
ancient principles, and whose superstition makes them our 
passive tools. But I will not further withdraw the veil of 
our mysteries. That bugle-sound^ announces something which 
may require my presence. Think on what I have said. — 
Farewell ! — I do not say forgive me the violence I have 
threatened, for it was necessary to the display of thy char- 
acter. Gold can be only known by the application of the 
touch-stone. I will soon return, and hold further conference 
with thee.” 

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair, 
leaving Eebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of 
the death to which she had been so lately exposed, than at 
the furious ambition of the bold bad man in whose power 
she found herself so unhappily placed. When she entered 
the turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to 
the God of Jacob for the protection which he had afforded 
her, and to implore its continuance for her and for her 
father. Another name glided into her petition — it was that 
of the wounded Christian, whom fate had placed in the 
hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her heart 
indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with the 
Deity in prayer, she mingled in her devotions the recollec- 
tion of one with whose fate hers could have no alliance — 
a hTazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But the petition 
was already breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices 
of her sect induce Eebecca to wish it recalled. 

' This chapter ends like the three pre- this and previous chapters contrasting 
vious chapters with the startling bugle Rebecca and Rowena. 
note — “that bugle sound.” Compare 


IVANHOE. 


mi 


CHAPTEE XXV 

AT TORQUILSTONE. SUMMONS TO SURRENDER. DE BCEUF’S REPLY 
RECEIVED BY THE ASSAILANTS. 

When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he found 
Be Bracy already there. “Your love-suit/’ said De Bracy, 
^‘hath, I suppose, been disturbed, like mine, by this obstreper- 
ous summons. But you have come later and more reluctantly, 
and therefore I presume your interview has proved more agree- 
able than mine.” 

“Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the 
Saxon heiress?” said the Templar. 

“By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered De Bracy, 
“the Lady Eowena must have heard that I cannot endure 
the sight of women^s tears.” 

“Away !” said the Templar ; “thou a leader of a Free Com- 
pany, and regard a woman’s tears! A few drops sprinkled 
on the torch of love make the flame blaze the brighter.” 

“Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” replied 
De Bracy; “but this damsel hath wept enough to extinguish 
a beacon-light. Xever was such wringing of hands and 
such overflowing of eyes, since the days of St. Xiobe,^ of 
whom Prior Aymer told us. A water-flend hath possessed 
the fair Saxon.” 

“A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the Jew- 
ess,” replied the Templar; “for, I think no single one, not 
even Apollyon himself, could have inspired such indomitable 
pride and resolution. — But where is Front-de-Boeuf ? That 
horn is sounded more and more clamorously.” 

“He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied De 
Bracy, coolly; “probably the howls of Isaac have drowned 
the blast of the bugle. Thou mayst know, by experience. 
Sir Brian, that a Jew parting with his treasures on such 
terms as our friend Front-de-Boeuf is like to offer, will 
raise a clamour loud enough to be heard over twenty horns 
and trumpets to boot. But we will make the vassals call 
him.” 

1 Where has Prior Aymer told us about Niobe? 


238 


IVANHOE. 


They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had 
been disturbed in his tyrannical cruelty in the manner with 
which the reader is acquainted, and had only tarried to give 
some necessary directions. 

^^Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour,” said Front- 
de-Boeuf. — ^^Here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is in 
Saxon.” 

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had 
had really some hopes of coming at the meaning by invert- 
ing the position of the paper, and then handed it to De 
Bracy. 

^Tt may be magic spells for aught I know,” said De Bracy, 
who possessed his full proportion of the ignorance which 
characterised the chivalry of the period.’^ ^^Our chaplain 
attempted to teach me to write,” he said, ^d)ut all my letters 
were formed like spear-heads or sword-blades, and so the 
old shaveling^ gave up the task.” 

^^Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that of the 
priestly character, that we have some knowledge to enlighten 
our valour.” 

“Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,” 
said De Bracy; “what says the scroll?” 

“It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the Templar; 
“but, by our Lady of Bethlehem,^ if it be not a foolish jest, 
it is the most extraordinary carteP that ever was sent across 
the drawbridge of a baronial castle.” 

“Jest!” said Front-de-Boeuf, “I would gladly know who 
dares jest with me in such a matter ! — Bead it. Sir Brian.” 

The Templar accordingly read it as follows: — 

“I, Wamba, the son of Witless, Jester to a noble and 
freeborn man, Cedric of Eotherwood, called the Saxon, — 
And I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd — ” 

“Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the 
reader. 

“By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Templar. 
Then resuming his task, he went on, — “I, Gurth, the son 
of Beovuilph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, with the 

1 Note De Bracy’s illiteracy — char- * one who is shaven, a monk, 

acteristic of the chivalry of the period. ® written defiance or challenge. 

He could not read the letter. 


IVANHOE. 


239 


assistance of onr allies and confederates, who make common 
cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good knight, 
called for the present Le Noir Faineant, and the stout 
yeoman, Robert Locksley, called Cleave-the-wand, Do you, 
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and your allies and accomplices 
whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you have, without cause 
given or feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery seized 
upon the person of our lord and master the said Cedric; also 
upon the person of a noble and free-born damsel, the Lady 
Rowena of Hargottstandstede ; also upon the person of a 
noble and free-born man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; also 
upon the persons of certain free-born men, their cnichtsF 
also upon certain serfs, their born bondsmen; also upon a 
certain Jew, named Isaac of York, together with his 
daughter, a Jewess, and certain horses and mules: Which 
noble persons, with their cnichts and slaves, and also with 
the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were all 
in peace with his majesty, and travelling as liege subjects 
upon the king’s highway; therefore we require and demand 
that the said noble persons, namely Cedric of Rotherwood, 
Rowena of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, 
with their servants, cnichts, and followers, also the horses 
and mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, together with all 
goods and chattels to them ’ pertaining, be, within an hour 
after the delivery hereof, delivered to us, or to those whom 
we shall appoint to receive the same, and that untouched 
and unharmed in body and goods. Failing of which, we 
do pronounce to you, that we hold ye as robbers and traitors, 
and will wager our bodies against ye in battle, siege or 
otherwise, and do our utmost to your annoyance and destruc- 
tion. Wherefore may God have you in his keeping. — 
Signed by us upon the eve of St. Withold’s day, under the 
great try sting oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above being 
written by a holy man. Clerk to God, our Lady, and St. 
Dunstan, in the Chapel of Copmanhurst.” 

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the 
first place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with a 
legend expressing this hieroglyphic to be the sign-manual 


1 knights; military attendants. 


240 


IVANHOE. 


of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this respectable emblem 
stood a cross, stated to be the mark of Gurth, the son of 
Beowulph. Then was written in rough bold characters, 
the words Le Noir Faineant. And, to conclude the whole, 
an arrow, neatly enough drawn, was described as the mark 
of the yeoman Locksley. 

The knights heard this uncommon document read from 
end to end, and then gazed upon each other in silent amaze- 
ment, as being utterly at a loss to know what it could portend. 
De Bracy was the first to break silence by an uncontrollable 
fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though with more mod- 
eration, by the Templar. Front-de-Boeuf, on the contrary, 
seemed impatient of their ill-timed jocularity. 

give you plain warning,^^ he said, ^Tair sirs, that you 
had better consult how to bear yourselves under these cir- 
cumstances, than give way to such misplaced merriment.^^ 

“Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his 
late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; “he is cowed 
at the very idea of a cartel, though it come but from a 
fool and a swineherd.” 

“By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “I would 
thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thy- 
self, De Bracy. These fellows dared not have ' acted with 
such inconceivable impudence, had they not been supported 
by some strong bands. There are enough outlaws in this 

forest to resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one 

fellow, who was taken red-handed and in the act, to the 

horns of a wild stag, which gored him to death in five 

minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me as there were 
launched against yonder target at Ashby. — Here, fellow,” 
he added, to one of his attendants, “hast thou sent out to 
see by what force this precious challenge is to be supported ?” 

“There are at least two hundred men assembled in the 
woods,” answered a squire who was in attendance. 

“Here is a proper matter!” said Front-de-Boeuf; “this 
comes of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot 
manage your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this 
nest of hornets about my ears !” 

“Of hornets !” said De Bracy ! “of stingless dyones rather ; 


IVANHOE. 


24:1 


a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood, and destroy 
the venison rather than labour for their maintenance.” 

‘^Stingless !” replied Front-de-Boeuf ; ^^fork-headed shafts 
of a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the breadth 
of a French crown, are sting enough.” 

“For shame. Sir Knight!” said the Templar. “Let us 
summon our people, and sally forth upon them. One 
knight — ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty such 
peasants.” 

“Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “I should only 
be ashamed to couch lance against them.” 

“True,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “were they black Turks 
or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, 
most valiant De Bracy; but these are English yeomen, over 
whom we shall have no advantage, save what we may derive 
from our arms and horses, which will avail us little in the 
glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? We have scare 
men enough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at 
York; so is all your band, De Bracy; and we have scarcely 
twenty, besides the handful that were engaged in this mad 
business.” 

“Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “that they can 
assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle?” 

“Not so. Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Boeuf. “These 
outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but without machines, 
scaling ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle may defy 
them.” 

“Send to thy neighbours,” said the Templar; “let them 
assemble their people, and come to the rescue of three 
knights, besieged by a jester and a swineherd in the baronial 
castle of Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf 1” 

“You jest. Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to 
whom should I send? — Malvoisin is by this time at York 
with his retainers and so are my other allies; and so should 
I have been, but for this infernal enterprise.” 

“Then send to York, and recall our people,” said De 
Bracy. “If they abide the shaking of my standard, or the 
sight of my Free Companions, I will give them credit for 
the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in green-wood.” 


24:2 


IVANHOE. 


^‘And who shall bear such a message ?” said Front-de- 
Boeuf; ^^they will beset every path, and rip the errand out 
of his bosom. — I have it/’ he added, after pausing for a 
moment — ^‘Sir Templar, thou canst write as well as read, 
and if we can but find the writing materials of my chaplain, 
who died a twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmas 
carousals — ” 

^^So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in attend- 
ance, ^‘1 think old Urfried has them somewhere in keeping, 
for love of the confessor. He was the last man, I have 
heard her tell, who ever said aught to her, which man ought 
in courtesy to address to maid or matron.” 

^^Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; 
^^and then. Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to 
this bold challenge.” 

would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that 
of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert ; ^Tut be it as you will.” 

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French 
language, an epistle of the following tenor: — 

‘^Sir Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble and knightly 
allies and confederates, receive no defiances at the hands of 
slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself 
the Black Knight have indeed a claim to the honours of 
chivalry, he ought to know that he stands degraded by his 
present association, and has no right to ask reckoning at 
the hands of good men of noble blood. Touching the prison- 
ers we have made, we do in Christian charity require you 
to send a man of religion, to receive their confession, and 
reconcile them with God; since it is our fixed intention to 
execute them this morning before noon, so that their heads 
being placed on the battlements, shall show to all men how 
lightly we esteem those who have bestirred themselves in 
their rescue. Wherefore, as above, we require you to send a 
priest to reconcile them to God, in doing which you shall 
render them the last earthly service.” 

This letter being folded, was delivered to the squire, and 
by him to the messenger who waited without, as the answer 
to that which he had brought. 

The yeoman having thus accomplished his mission, 


IVANHOE. 


24:3 


returned to the head-quarters of the allies, which were for 
the present established under a venerable oak tree, about 
three arrow-flights distant from the castle. Here Wamba 
and Gurth, with their allies the Black Knight and Locksley, 
and the jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an answer to 
their summons. Around, and at a distance from them, were 
seen many a bold yeoman, whose silvan dress and weather- 
beaten countenances showed the ordinary nature of their 
occupation. More than two hundred had already assembled, 
and others were fast coming in. Those whom they obeyed 
as leaders were only distinguished from the others by a 
feather in the cap, their dress, arms, and equipments being 
in all other respects the same. 

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse armed 
force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the neighbour- 
ing township, as well as many bondsmen and servants from 
Cedric’s extensive estate, had already arrived for the pur- 
pose of assisting in his rescue. Few of these were armed 
otherwise than with such rustic weapons as necessity some- 
times converts to military purposes. Boar-spears, scythes, 
flails, and the like, were their chief arms; for the Normans, 
with the usual policy of conquerors, were jealous of per- 
mitting to the vanquished Saxons the possession or the use 
of swords and spears. These circumstances rendered the 
assistance of the Saxons far from being so formidable to the 
besieged as the strength of the men themselves, their superior 
numbers, and the animation inspired by a just cause, might 
otherwise well have made them. It was to the leaders of 
this motley army that the letter of the Templar was now 
delivered. 

Eeference was at flrst made to the chaplain for an exposi- 
tion of its contents. 

^‘By the crook of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy ecclesi- 
astic, “which hath brought more sheep within the sheepfold 
than the crook of e’er another saint in Paradise, I swear that 
I cannot expound unto you this jargon, which, whether it be 
French or Arabic, is beyond my guess.” 

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head 
gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at each 


244 


IVANHOE. 


of the four corners of the paper with such a grin of affected 
intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume upon similar 
occasions, then cut a caper, and gave the letter to Locksley. 

‘^If the long letters were bows, and the short letter 
broad arrows, I might know something of the matter,^^ said 
the brave yeoman; ^^but as the matter stands, the meaning 
is as safe, for me, as the stag that’s at twelve miles distance.” 

must be clerk,^ then,” said the Black Knight; and 
taking the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to 
himself, and then explained the meaning in Saxon to his 
confederates. 

^^Execute the noble Cedric!” exclaimed Wamba; ^^by the 
rood, thou must be mistaken. Sir Knight.” 

“Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight; “I have 
explained the words as they are here set down.” 

“Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury,” replied Gurth, 
“we will have the castle, should we tear it down with our 
hands !” 

“We have nothing else to tear it with,” replied Wamba; 
“but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks^ of freestone 
and mortar.” 

“ ’Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley ; 
“they dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fearful 
penalty.” 

“I would,” said the Black Knight, “there were some one 
among us who could obtain admission into the castle, anc 
discover how the case stands with the besieged. Methinks, 
as they require a confessor to be sent,^ this holy hermit 
might at once exercise his pious vocation, and procure us 
the information we desire.” 

“A plague on thee, and thy advice!” said the pious her- 
mit; “I tell thee. Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff my‘ 
friar’s frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my very Latin, 
are put off along with it; and when in my green jerkin, I 
can better kill twenty deer than confess one Christian.” 

“I fear,” said the Black Knight, “I fear greatly, 
there is no one here that is qualified to take upon him, 

* The Templar was the only one able ® This suggests to the Black Knight a 

to read the letter. way of getting a spy into the castle. 

* fragments, small pieces. What was it? 


IVANHOE. 


2^45 


for the nonce/ this same character of father confessor?’^ 

All looked on each other, and were silent. 

see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, ‘^that the fool 
must be still the fool, and put his neck in the venture which 
wise men shrink from. You must know, my dear cousins 
and countrymen, that I wore russet before I wore motley, 
and was bred to be a friar, until a brain-fever came upon 
me and left me just wit enough to be a fool. I trust, with 
the assistance of the good hermit’s frock, together with the 
priesthood, sanctity, and learning which are stitched into the 
cowl of it, I shall be found qualified to administer both 
worldly and ghostly comfort to our worthy master Cedric, 
and his companions in adversity.” 

^^Hath he sense enough, thinkest thou?” said the Black 
Knight, addressing Gurth. 

‘^1 know not,” said Gurth; ^^but if he hath not, it will be 
the first time he hath wanted wit to turn his folly to 
account.” 

^^On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the Knight, 
^^and let thy master send us an account of their situation 
within the castle. Their numbers must be few, and it is 
five to one they may be accessible by a sudden and bold 
attack. Time wears — away with thee.” 

^^And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, ^Ve will beset the 
place so closely, that not so much as a fly shall carry news 
from thence. So that, my good friend,” he continued, 
addressing Wamba, ^Thou mayst assure these tyrants, that 
whatever violence they exercise on the persons of their 
prisoners, shall be most severely repaid upon their own.” 

^'Pax vobiscum/' said Wamba, who was now muffled in his 
religious disguise. 

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately deport- 
ment of a friar, and departed to execute his mission. 


present time, or occasion. 


24:6 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEE XXVI 

AT TORQUILSTONE. THE JESTER AS A FRANCISCAN MONK ENTERS TO 
RESCUE CEDRIC. 

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the 
hermit, *and having his knotted cord twisted round his 
middle, stood before the portal of the castle of Front-de- 
Boenf, the warder demanded of him his name and errand. 

''Pax vohiscum/' answered the Jester, am a poor 
brother of the Order of St. Francis, who come hither to do 
my office to certain unhappy prisoners now secured within 
this castle.” 

‘^Thou art a bold friar,” said the warder, ^^to come hither, 
where, saving our own drunken confessor, a cock of thy 
feather hath not crowed these twenty years.” 

^‘Yet, I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the 
castle,” answered the pretended friar; ^^trust me it will find 
good acceptance with him, and the cock shall crow, that the 
whole castle shall hear him.” 

^^Gramercy,” said the warder ; %ut if I come to shame 
for leaving my post upon thine errand, I will try whether 
a friar^s grey gown be proof against a grey-goose ehaft.”^ 

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the 
hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy friar 
stood before the gate and demanded instant admission. With 
no small wonder he received his master^s commands to admit 
the holy man immediately; and, having previously manned 
the entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed, without 
further scruple, the commands which he had received. The 
harebrained self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to 
undertake this dangerous office, was scarce sufficient to sup- 
port him when he found himself in the presence of a man so 
dreadful, and so much dreaded, as Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, 
and he brought out his pax vobiscum to which he, in a good 
measure, trusted for supporting his character, with more 
anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. 
But Front-de-Boeuf was accustomed to see men of all ranks 


^ longbow arrow. 


IVANHOE. 


2^47 


tremble in his presence, so that the timidity of the supposed 
father did not give him any cause of suspicion. “Who and 
whence art thou, priest?” said he. 

''Pax vohiscumP'^ reiterated the Jester, “I am a poor 
servant of St. Francis, who, travelling through this wilder- 
ness, have fallen among thieves, (as Scripture hath it), qui- 
dam viator incidit in latrones, which thieves have sent me 
unto this castle in order to do my ghostly office on two 
persons condemned by your honourable justice.” 

“Ay, right,” answered Front-de-Boeuf ; “and canst thou 
tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti?” 

“Gallant sir,” answered the Jester, "nomen illis legio, 
their name is legion.” 

“Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or priest, 
thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.” 

“Alas!” said the supposed friar, "cor meum eructavit, 
that is to say, I was like to burst with fear ! but I conceive 
they may be — what of yeomen — what of commons, at least 
five hundred men.” 

“What!” said the Templar, who came into the hall that 
moment, “muster the wasps so thick here? It is time to 
stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then taking Front-de- 
Bceuf aside, “Knowest thou the priest?” 

“He is a stranger from a distant convent,” said Front-de- 
Bceuf; “I know him not.” 

“Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,” answered 
the Templar. “Let him carry a written order to De Bracy’s. 
company of Free Companions, to repair instantly to their 
master’s aid. In the meantime, and that the shaveling may 
suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task of 
preparing these Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house.” 

“It shall be so,” said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forthwith 
appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba to the apartment, 
where Cedric and Athelstane were confined. 

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than 
diminished by his confinement. He walked from one end 
of the hall to the' other, with the attitude of one who ad- 

* The Jester’s Latin is mainly snatch incidit in latrones, A certain man fell 
phrases from the Vulgate Bible used by among thieves (Luke x: 30); nomen 
the priests: Fax wfefscMTO. Peace be unto illis legio, their name is Legion, etc. 
you (Luke xxiv: 30) ; qvidam viator 


248 


IVANHOE, 


vances to charge an enemy, or to storm the breach of a 
beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, some- 
times addressing Athelstane, who stoutly and stoically 
awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting, in the mean- 
time, with great composure, the liberal meal which he had 
made at noon, and not greatly interesting himself about the 
duration of his captivity, which, he concluded, would, like 
all earthly evils, find an end in Heaven’s good time. 

''Pax voliscum” said the Jester, entering the apartment; 
^“^the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Denis,^ St. Duthoc and 
all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye.” 

^‘Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed friar; 
^Vith what intent art thou come hither?” 

^^To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” answered the 
J ester. 

^‘It is impossible!” replied Cedric, starting. ^Tearless 
and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open 
and gratuitous cruelty !” 

^^Alas!” said the Jester, restrain them by their sense 
of humanity, is the same as to stop a runaway horse with 
a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, noble Cedric, 
and you also, gallant Athelstane, what crimes you have com- 
mitted in the fiesh; for this very day will ye be called to 
answer at a higher tribunal.” 

‘^nearest thou this, Athelstane?” said Cedric; ^Ve must 
rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better it is 
we should die like men, than live like slaves.” 

^'1 am ready,” answered Athelstane, ^‘to stand the worst 
of their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much 
composure as ever I did to my dinner.” 

‘^Let us then unto our holy gear,^ father,” said Cedric. 

' ^‘Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester, in his 
natural tone; ^‘better look long before you leap in the dark.” 

^‘By my faith,” said Cedric, should know that voice!” 

^Ht is that of your trusty slave and jester,” answered 
Wamba, throwing back his cowl. ‘‘Had you taken a fool’s 
advice formerly, you would not have been here at all. Take 
a fool’s advice now, and you will not be here long.” 


1 patron saint of France; he was martyred in the third century. * affairs, business. 


IVANHOE. 


2'49 


^‘How meanest thou, knave?’’ answered the Saxon. 

^^Even thus,” replied Wamba; ‘‘take thou this frock and 
cord, which are all the orders^ I ever had, and march quietly 
out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take 
the long leap^ in thy stead.” 

“Leave thee in my stead!” said Cedric, astonished at the 
proposal; “why, they would hang thee, my poor knave.” 

“E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said Wamba; 
“I trust — no disparagement to your birth — that the son 
of Witless may hang in a chain with as much gravity as 
the chain^ hung upon his ancestor the alderman.” 

“Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “for one thing will I 
grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the 
exchange of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of me.” 

“No, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there were 
little reason in that. Good right there is, that the son of 
Witless should suffer to save the son of Hereward; but little 
wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of one whose 
fathers were strangers to his.” 

“Villain,” said Cedric, “the fathers of Athelstane were 
monarchs of England !” 

“They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied Wamba; 
“but my neck stands too straight upon my shoulders to 
have it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, good my master, 
either take my proffer yourself, or suffer me to leave this 
dungeon as free as I entered.” 

“Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “so the 
stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble 
Athelstane, my trusty Wamba ! it is the duty of each who 
has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide 
together the utmost rage of our injurious oppressors, while 
he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our 
countrymen to avenge us.” 

“Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping his 
hand, — for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and 
sentiments were not unbecoming his high race — “Not so,” 
he continued; “I would rather remain in this hall a week 


* ordination to priesthood. ^ j^to eternity, death. 

® the gold chain which was the alderman’s mark of office. 


250 


IVANHOE. 


without food save the prisoner’s stinted loaf, or drink save 
the prisoner’s measure of water, than embrace the oppor- 
tunity to escape which the slave’s untaught kindness has 
purveyed for his master.” 

^‘You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester, “and I 
a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the 
fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the 
trouble of straining courtesies any farther. I am like 
John-a-Duck’s mare, that will let no man mount. her but 
John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will not 
consent — basta^ — I can but go away home again. Kind 
service cannot be chucked from hand to hand like a shuttle- 
cock or stool-ball.2 I’ll hang for no man but my own born 
master.” 

“Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, “neglect not 
this opportunity. Your presence without may encourage 
friends to our rescue — yOur remaining here would ruin us 
all.” 

“And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from with- 
out?” said Cedric, looking to the Jester. 

“Prospect, indeed!” echoed Wamba; “let me tell you, 
when you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s 
cassock. Five hundred men are there without, and I was 
this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool’s cap was 
a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see 
what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise 
man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valour what they may 
gain in discretion. And so farewell, master, and be kind 
to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my cockscomb 
hang in the hall at Rotherwood, in memory that I flung 
away my life for my master, like a faithful — fool.” 

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, 
betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes. 

“Thy memory shall be preserved,” he said, “while fidality 
and affection have honour upon earth! But that I trust 
I shall find the means of saving Rowena, and thee, Athel- 
stane, and thee also my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not over- 
bear me in this matter.” 


* enough, stop. 


* ball game formerly much played by young women. 


IVANHOE. 


2^51 


The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a 
sudden doubt struck Cedric. 

“I know no language,’^ he said, ^^but my own, and a few 
words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself 
like a reverend brother?’’ 

‘^The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba — ''Pax 
vohiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or 
drink, bless or ban, Pax vohiscum carries you through it 
all. It is as useful to a friar as a broom-stick to a witch, 
or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep grave 
tone , — Pax vohiscum ! — it is irresistible. Watch and ward, 
knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon 
them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged to- 
morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will try its 
weight upon the finisher of the sentence.” 

^Tf such prove the case,” said his master, ‘‘^my religious 
orders are soon taken — Pax vohiscum. I trust I shall re- 
member the pass-word. — Noble Athelstane, farewell; and 
farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for 
a weaker head — I will save you, or return and die with you. 
The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while 
mine beats in my veins ; nor shall one hair fall from the head 
of the kind knave who risked himself for his master, if 
Cedric’s peril can prevent it. — Farewell.” 

‘^Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane; ^^remember it 
is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are 
offered any.” 

^^Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; ^^and remember Pax 
vohiscum.^' 

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; 
and it was not long ere he had occasion to try the force 
of that spell which his Jester had recommended as omnipo- 
tent. In a low^arched and dusky passage, by which he 
endeavoured to work his way to the hall of the castle, he 
was interrupted by a female form. 

"Pax vohiscum r said the pseudo friar, and was endeav- 
ouring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, "Et vohis — 
quoeso domine reverendissime, pro misericordia vestra.'' 

"1 am somewhat deaf,” replied Cedric, in good Saxon, and 
at the same time muttered to himself, ^^A curse on the fool and 


252 


IVANHOE. 


his Pax vobiscum! I have lost my javelin at the first cast.” 

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those 
days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person who 
now addressed Cedric knew full well. 

“I pray you of dear love, reverend father,” she replied in 
his own language, ‘^that you will deign to visit with your 
ghostly comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle, and have 
such compassion upon him and us as thy holy office teaches. 
Never shall good deed so highly advantage thy convent.” 

^^Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed, ^^my 
time in this castle will not permit me to exercise the duties 
of mine office — I must presently forth — there is life and 
death upon my speed.” 

^'Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have 
taken on you,” replied the suppliant, ^ffiot to leave the 
oppressed and endangered without counsel or succour.” 

‘^May the fiend fiy away with me, and leave me in Ifrin 
with the souls of Odin and of Thor !”^ answered Cedric, impa- 
tiently, and would probably have proceeded in the same tone 
of total departure from his spiritual character, when the 
colloquy was interrupted by the harsh voice of IJrfried, the 
old crone of the turret. 

^‘How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, ^^is this 
the manner in which you requite the kindness which per- 
mitted thee to leave t% prison-cell yonder? — Puttest thou 
the reverend man to use ungracious language to free him- 
self from the importunities of a Jewess?” 

J ewess !” said Cedric, availing himself of the informa- 
tion to get clear of their interruption, — “Let me pass, 
woman! stop me not at your peril. I am fresh from my 
holy office, and would avoid pollution.^’ 

“Come this way, father,'^ said the old hag; “thou art a 
stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without a 
guide. Come hither, for I would speak with thee. — And 
you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick man’s 
chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide 
you if you again quit it without my permission!” 

Eebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon 

1 In the Norse mythology Odin, or father. Thor, god of thunder, was the 
Woden, was the god of gods, the all- strongest of gods and men. 


IVANHOE. 


253 

Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had 
employed her services where she herself would most gladly 
have paid them, by the bedside of the wounded Ivanhoe. 
With an understanding awake to their dangerous situation, 
and prompt to avail herself of each means of safety which 
occurred, Eebecca had hoped something from the presence 
of a man of religion, who, she learned from Urfried, had 
penetrated into this godless castle. She watched the return 
of the supposed ecclesiastic, with the purpose of addressing 
him, and interesting him in favour of the prisoners, with 
what imperfect success the reader has been just acquainted. 


CHAPTEE XXVII 

AT TORQUILSTONE. ULRICA. CEDRIC LEAVES THE CASTLE. THE 
DISGUISED JESTER DISCOVERED. ATHELSTANE’S RANSOM. MONK 
AMBROSE. THE BESIEGED. 

When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven 
Eebecca back to the apartment from which she had sallied, 
she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small 
apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then 
fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, 
she placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather 
asserting a fact than asking a question, “Thou art Saxon, 
father. — Deny it not,^^ she continued, observing that Cedric 
hastened not to reply; “the sounds of my native language 
are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save from the 
tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the 
proud Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwell- 
ing. Thou art a Saxon, father — a Saxon, and, save as thou 
art a servant of God, a freeman. — Thine accents are sweet 
in mine ear.” 

“Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?” replied 
Cedric; “it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the out- 
cast and oppressed children of the soil.” 

“They come not, or if they come, they better love to revel 
at the boards of their conquerors,” answered Urfried, “than 


254 


IVANHOE. 


to hear the groans of their countrymen — so, at least, report 
speaks of them — of myself I can say little. This castle for 
ten years, has opened to no priest save the debauched Nor- 
man chaplain who partook the nightly revels of Front-de- 
Boeuf, and he has been long gone to render an account of 
his stewardship. — But thou art a Saxon — a Saxon priest, 
and I have no question to ask of thee.^’ 

am a Saxon,^’ answered Cedric, “but unworthy, surely, 
of the name of priest. Let me begone on my way. — I swear I 
will return, or send one of our fathers more worthy to hear 
your confession.^’ 

“Stay yet a while,” said TJrfried; “the accents of the 
voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked with the 
cold earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast T 

have lived. But wine must give me strength to tell the 

horrors of my tale.” She poured out a cup, and drank it 
with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of draining 
the last drop in the goblet. “It stupefies,” she said, looking 
upwards as she finished her draught, “but it cannot cheer. 
— Partake of it, father, if you would hear my tale with- 
out sinking down upon the pavement.” Cedric would have 
avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, but the 

sign which she made to him expressed impatience and de- 

spair. He complied with her request, and answered her 
challenge in a large wine-cup; she then proceeded with her 
story, as if appeased by his complaisance. 

“I was not born,” she said, “father, the wretch that thou 
now seest me. I was free, was happy, was honoured, loved 
and was beloved. I am now a slave, miserable and degraded 
— the sport of my masters’ passions while I had yet beauty 
— the object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred, since it 
has passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, that I should 
hate mankind, and, above all, the race that has wrought 
this change in me? Can the wrinkled decrepit hag be^re 
thee, whose wrath must vent itself in impotent curses, for- 
get she was once the daughter of the noble Thane of Tor- 
quilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals trembled?” 

“Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!” said Cedric, 
receding as he spoke; “thou — thou — the daughter of that 
noble Saxon, my father’s friend and companion in arms !” 


IVANHOE. 


255 


father’s friend!” echoed Urfried; ^^then Cedric 
called the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Hereward 
of Rotherwood had but one son, whose name is well known 
among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of Rother- 
wood, why this religious dress? — Hast thou too' despaired 
of saving thy country, and sought refuge from oppression 
in the shade of the convent?” 

“It matters not who I am,” said Cedric ; “proceed, 
unhappy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt ! — Guilt 
there must be — there is guilt even in thy living to tell it.” 

“There is-^there is,” answered the wretched woman, 
“deep, black, damning guilt, — guilt that lies like a load at 
my breast — guilt that all the penitential fires of hereafter 
cannot cleanse. — Yes, in these halls, stained with the noble 
and pure blood of my father and my brethren — in these very 
halls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer, the 
slave at once and the partaker of his pleasures, was to render 
every breath which I drew of vital air, a crime and a curse.” 

“Wretched woman !” exclaimed Cedric. “And while the 
friends of thy father — while each true Saxon heart, as it 
breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his valiant 
sons, forgot not in their prayers the murdered Ulrica — 
while all mourned and honoured the dead, thou hast lived 
to merit our hate and execration — lived to unite thyself with 
the vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest — who 
shed the blood of infancy, rather than a male of the noble 
house of Torquil Wolf ganger should survive — with him hast 
thou lived to unite thyself, and in the bands of lawless love !” 

“In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love !” 
answered the hag; “love will sooner visit the regions of 
eternal doom, than those unhallowed vaults. — Ho, with that 
at least I cannot reproach myself. Hatred to Front-de- 
Boeuf and his race governed my soul most deeply, even in 
the hour of his guilty endearments.” 

^TTou hated him, and yet you lived,” replied Cedric; 
'^Vretch! was there no poniard — no knife — no bodkin? Well 
was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an existence, that 
the secrets of a Norman castle are like those of the grave. 
For had I but dreamed of the daughter of Torquil living in 
foul communion with the murderer of her father, the sword 


256 


IVANHOE. 


of a true Saxon had found thee out even in the arms of thy 
paramour I” 

^^Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name 
of Torquil?’^ said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her 
assumed name of Urfried; “thou art then the true Saxon 
report speaks thee ! for even within these accursed walls, 
where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscrutable 
mystery, even there has the name of Cedric been sounded — 
and I wretched and degraded, have rejoiced to think that 
there yet breathed an avenger of our unhappy nation. — I also 
have had my hours of vengeance — I have -fomented the 
quarrels of our foes, and heated drunken revelry into mur- 
derous broil — I have seen their blood flow — I have heard 
their dying groans ! — Look on me, Cedric — are there not 
still left on this foul and faded face some traces of the 
features of Torquil!” 

“Ask me not of them, Ulrica,^’ replied Cedric, in a tone 
of grief mixed with abhorrence; “these traces form such a 
resemblance as arises from the grave of the dead, when a 
fiend has animated the lifeless corpse.^’ 

“Be it so,^’ answered Ulrica; “yet wore these fiendish 
features the mask of a spirit of light when they were able 
to set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his son Eegi- 
nald! The darkness of hell should hide what followed, but 
revenge must lift the veil, and darkly intimate what it 
would raise the dead to speak aloud. Long had the smoul- 
dering fire of discord glowed between the tyrant father and 
his savage son — long had I nursed, in secret, the unnatural 
hatred. It blazed forth in an hour of drunken wassail, and 
at his own board fell my oppressor by the hand of his own 
son. Such are the secrets these vaults conceal ! — Eend 
asunder, ye accursed arches,^^ she added, looking up towards 
the roof, “and bury in your fall all who are conscious of the 
hideous mystery!’^ 

“And thou, creature of guilt and misery,’^ said Cedric, 
“what became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher?’’ 

“Guess it, but ask it not. Here — here I dwelt, till age, 
premature age, has stamped its ghastly features on my coun- 
tenance — scorned and insulted where I was once obeyed, 
and compelled to bound the revenge which had once such 


IVANHOE. 


2r57 


ample scope, to the efforts of petty malice of a discontented 
menial, or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotent hag — 
condemned to hear from my lonely turret the sounds of rev- 
elry in which I once partook, or the shrieks and groans of 
new victims of oppression.” 

‘^Ulrica,” said Cedric, ‘Vith a heart which still, I fear, 
regrets the lost rewards of thy crimes, as much as the deeds 
by which thou didst acquire that meed, how didst thou dare 
to address thee to one who wears this robe? Consider, 
unhappy woman, what could the sainted Edward^ himself 
do for thee, were he here in bodily presence? The royal 
Confessor was endowed by Heaven with power to cleanse 
the ulcers of the body, but only God himself can cure the 
leprosy of the soul.” 

^^Yet, turn not from me, stem prophet of wrath,” she 
exclaimed, ^Tut tell me, if. thou canst, in what shall ter- 
minate these new and awful feelings that burst on my 
solitude. — Why do deeds, long since done, rise before me 
in new and irresistible horrors? What fate is prepared 
beyond the grave for her, to whom God has assigned on 
earth a lot of such unspeakable wretchedness? Better had 
I turn to Woden, Hertha, and Zernebock — to Mista, and to 
Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptized ancestors, than 
endure the dreadful anticipations which have of late haunted 
my waking and my sleeping hours !” 

'T am no priest,” said Cedric, turning with disgust from 
this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair; 

am no priest, though I wear a priest^s garment.” 

“Priest or layman,” answered Ulrica, “thou art the first 
I have seen for twenty years, by whom God was feared or 
man regarded; and dost thou bid me despair?” 

“I bid thee repent,” said Cedric. “Seek to prayer and 
penance, and mayest thou find acceptance! But I cannot, 
I will not, longer abide with thee.” 

“Stay yet a moment!” said Ulrica; “leave me not now, 
son of my father’s friend, lest the demon who has governed 
my life should tempt me to avenge myself on thy hard- 
hearted scorn. Thinkest thou, if Front-de-Boeuf found Cedric 


1 Edward the Confessor, King of England, 1041 — 1066. 


25S 


IVANHOE. 


the Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise, that thy life would 
be a long one? — Already his eye has been upon thee like a 
falcon on his prey/^ 

^^And be it so,’^ said Cedric; ^^and let him tear me with 
beak and talons, ere my tongue say one word which my 
heart doth not warrant. I will die a Saxon — true in word, 
open in deed. — I bid thee avaunt! — touch me not, stay me 
not ! — The sight of Front-de-Boeuf himself is less odious to 
me than thou, degraded and degenerate as thou art.^^ 

^^Be it so,^^ said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him; ^%o 
thy way, and forget, in the insolence of thy superiority, that 
the wretch before thee is the daughter of thy father’s friend. 
— Go thy way — if I am separated from mankind by my 
sufferings — separated from those whose aid I might most 
justly expect — ^not less will I be separated from them in my 
revenge! — Uo man shall aid me, but the ears of all men 
shall tingle to hear of the deed which I shall dare to do ! 
— Farewell! — thy scorn has burst the last tie which seemed 
yet to unite me to my kind — a thought that my woes might 
claim the compassion of my people.” 

‘^Ulrica,” said Cedric, softened by this appeal, ^%ast thou 
borne up and endured to live through so much guilt and so 
much misery, and wilt thou now yield to despair when thine 
eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when repentance were 
thy fitter occupation?” 

^Uedric,” answered Ulrica, ^Thou little knowest the human 
heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I have thought, 
requires the maddening love of pleasure, mingled with the 
keen appetite of revenge, the proud consciousness of power; 
draughts too intoxicating for the human heart to bear, and 
yet retain the power to prevent. Their force has long 
passed away. Age has no pleasures, wrinkles have no influ- 
ence, revenge itself dies away in impotent curses. Then 
comes remorse, with all its vipers, mixed with vain regrets 
for the past, and despair for the future! — Then, when all 
other strong impulses have ceased, we become like the fiends 
in hell, who may feel remorse, but never repentance. — But 
thy words have awakened a new soul within me. Well hast 
thou said, all is possible for those who dare to die! — Thou 


IVANHOE. 


2^59 


hast shown me the means of revenge, and be assured I will 
embrace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted bosom 
with other and with rival passions — henceforward it shall 
possess me wholly, and thou thyself shalt say, that, what- 
ever was the life of Ulrica, her death well became the 
daughter of the noble Torquil. There is a force without 
beleaguering this accursed castle. Hasten to lead them to 
the attack, and when thou shalt see a red flag wave from the 
turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press the Normans 
hard — they will then have enough to do within, and you may 
win the wall in spite both of bow and mangonel.^ — Begone, 
I pray thee — follow thine own fate, and leave me to mine.” 

Cedric would have enquired farther into the purpose which 
she thus darkly announced, but the stern voice of Front- 
de-Boeuf was heard, exclaiming, ^^Where tarries this loiter- 
ing priest ? By the scallop-shell of Compostella,^ I will make 
a martyr of him, if he loiters here to hatch treason among 
my domestics !” 

‘^What a true prophet,” said Ulrica, ^fls an evil conscience ! 
But heed him not — out and to thy people. Cry your Saxon 
onslaught, and let them sing their war-song of Kollo,^ if 
they will ; vengeance shall bear a burden^ to it.” 

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, 
and Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. Cedric, 
with some difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to 
the haughty Baron, who returned his courtesy with a slight 
inclination of the head. 

^^Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift® — it is the 
better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make. 
Hast thou prepared them for death?” 

“I found them,” said Cedric, in such French as he could 
command, ^^expecting the worst, from the moment they knew 
into whose power they had fallen.” 


^ a war engine used both in throwing 
large stones and battering walls. 

2 The relics of St. James the Elder, 
patron-saint of Spain, were preserved 
at Compostella, which became one of 
the three chief pilgrimage places in the 
Romish church, Jerusalem and Rome 
being the other two. A pilgrim’s em- 
blem was a scallop shell. 

® In the ninth century Norse vikings 


made repeated incursions into France, 
and bands of them settled permanently. 
King Charles the Simple was obliged to 
cede to them the province afterwards 
called Normandy, and to give his 
daughter in marriage to Rollo, their 
chief. Rollo embraced the Christian re- 
ligion and became the first duke of Nor- 
mandy. 

* refrain, as of a chorus. 5 confession. 


260 


IVANHOE. 


^^How now, Sir Friar/^ replied Front-de-Boeuf, ^^thy speech, 
methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue 

was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Burton,^’ 
answered Cedric. 

said the Baron; ^^it had been better for thee to 
have been a Norman, and better for my purpose too; but 
need has no choice of messengers. That St. Withold^s of 
Burton is a howlet’s nest worth the harrying.^ The day 
will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon as 
little as the mail-coat.^^ 

^^God^s will be done,’’ said Cedric, in a voice tremulous 
with passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear. 

see,” said he, ^Thou dreamest already that our men-at- 
arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me 
one cast of thy holy office, and, come what lists of others, 
thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell 
of proof.” 

“Speak your commands,” said Cedric, with suppressed 
emotion. 

“Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dis- 
miss thee by the postern.” 

And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, 
Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he 
desired he should act. 

“Thou seest. Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who 
have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell them 
whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this fortalice, 
or aught else that can detain them before it for twenty- 
four hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll — But soft — 
canst read. Sir Priest?” 

“Not a jot I,” answered Cedric, “save on my breviary; 
and then I know the characters, because I have the holy 
service by heart, praised be Our Lady and St. Withold !” 

“The fitter messenger for my purpose. — Carry thou this 
scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it cometh 
from me, and is written by the Templar Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York with all 
the speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him 


^ owl’s nest worth pillaging. 


IVANHOE. 


261 


to doubt nothing, he shall find us whole and sound behind 
our battlement. Shame on it, that we should be compelled 
to hide thus by a pack of runagates, who are wont to fiy 
even at the fiash of our pennons and the tramp of our 
horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some cast of thine 
art to keep the knaves where they are, until our friends 
bring up their lances. My vengeance is awake, and she is 
a falcon that slumbers not till she has been gorged.’’ 

^^By my patron saint,” said Cedric, with deeper energy 
than became his character, ^^and by every saint who has lived 
and died in England, your commands shall be obeyed ! Not 
a Saxon shall stir from before these walls, if I have art and 
influence to detain them there.” 

^^Ha 1” said Front-de-Boeuf, “thou changest thy tone. Sir 
Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy heart were in 
the slaughter of the Saxon herd; and yet thou art thyself 
of kindred to the swine?” 

Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation, 
and would at this moment have been much the better of a 
hint from Wamba’a more fertile brain. But necessity, 
according to the ancient proverb, sharpens invention, and 
he muttered something under his cowl concerning the men 
in question being excommunicated outlaws both to church 
and to kingdom. 

"'Despardieux/' answered Front-de-Bceuf, “thou hast 
spoken the very truths — I forgot that the knaves can strip 
a fat abbot, as well as if they had been born south of yonder 
salt channel. Was it not he of St. Ives whom they tied to 
an oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass while they were 
rifling his mails and his wallets? — No, by our Lady — that 
jest was played by Gualtier of Middleton, one of our own 
companions-at-arms. But they were Saxons who robbed 
the chapel of St. Bees of cup, candlestick, and chalice,^ were 
they not?” 

“They were godless men,” answered Cedric. 

“Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale that 
lay in store for many a secret carousal, when ye pretend ye 
are but busied with vigils and primes! — Priest, thou art 
bound to revenge such sacrilege.” 

1 communion cup. 


262 


IVANHOE. 


am indeed bound to vengeance/’ murmured Cedric; 
^^Saint Withold knows my heart.” 

Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a pos- 
tern, where, passing the ruoat on a single plank, they reached 
a small barbican, or exterior defence, which communicated 
with the open field by a well-fortified sallyport.^ 

^^Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and if 
thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon 
flesh cheap as ever was hog’s in the shambles^ of Sheffield. 
And, hark thee, thou seemest to be a jolly confessor — come 
hither after the onslaught, and thou shalt have as much 
Malvoisie® as would drench thy whole convent.” 

^‘Assuredly we shall meet again,” answered Cedric. 

^^Something in hand the whilst,” continued the Norman; 
and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust into 
) Cedric’s reluctant hand a gold byzant,^ adding, ^^Eerpember, 
I will flay off both cowl and skin, if thou failest in thy 
purpose.” 

^^And full leave will I give thee to do both,” answered 
Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth over the 
free field with a joyful step, “if, when we meet next, I 
deserve not better at thine hand.” — Turning then back 
towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold towards the 
donor, exclaiming at the same time, “False Norman, thy 
money perish with thee !” 

Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the 
action was suspicious. “Archers,” he called to the warders 
on the outward battlements, “send me an arrow through yon 
monk’s frock! Yet stay,” he said, as his retainers were 
bending their bows, “it avails not — we must thus far trust 
him since we have no better shift. I think he dares not 
betray me — at the worst I can but treat with these Saxon 
dogs whom I have safe in kennel. Ho! Giles jailor, let 
them bring Cedric of Eotherwood before me, and the other 
churl, his companion — ^him I mean of Coningsburgh — 
Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very names 
are an encumbrance to a Norman knight’s mouth, and have, 
as it were a flavour of bacon. Give me a stoup of wine, as 

» passage through which a sudden attack might be made on the besiegers. 

* meat markets. * malmsey wine, Madeira or Canary. * coin of Byzantium. 


IVANHOE. 


2f63 


jolly Prince John said, that I may wash away the relish 
— place it in the armoury, and thither lead the prisoners/^ 

His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering that 
Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils won by his own 
valour and that of his father, he found a flagon of wine on 
the massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captives under 
the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took 
a long draught of wine, and then addressed his prisoners; 
for the manner in which Wamba drew the cap over his face, 
the change of dress, the gloomy and broken light, and the 
Baron’s imperfect acquaintance with the features of Cedric, 
(who avoided his N'orman neighbours, and seldom stirred 
beyond his own domains,) prevented him from discovering 
that the most important of his captives had made his escape. 

^^Gallants of England,” said Eront-de-Bceuf, ^^how relish 
ye your entertainment at Torquilstone ? — Are ye yet aware 
what your surquedy and outrecuidance^ merit, for scoffing 
at the entertainment of a prince of the house of Anjou? Have 
ye forgotten how we requited the unmerited hospitality of 
the royal John? By God and St. Denis, an ye pay not 
the richer ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the 
iron bars of these windows, till the kites and hooded crows 
have made skeletons of you! — Speak out, ye Saxon dogs — 
what bid ye for your worthless lives? — How say you, you 
of Eotherwood ?” 

^^Not a doit^ I,” answered poor Wamba — ‘^and for hang- 
ing up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, they say, 
ever since the biggin was bound first round my head; so 
turning me upside down may peradventure restore it again.” 

^^Saint Genevieve !”^ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^Vhat have we 
got here?” 

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s cap 
from the head of the Jester, and throwing open his collar, 
discovered the fatal badge of servitude, the silver collar 
round his neck. 

^^Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets !” exclaimed the furi- 
ous Norman, ^Vhat have you brought me here?” 

think I can tell you,” said De Bracy, who just entered 

1 insolence and presumption about a quarter of a cent. 

2 small Dutch coin of the value of * patron saint of Pans. 


264 


IVANHOE. 


the apartment. ^^This is Cedric’s clown, who fought so 
manful a skirmish with Isaac of York^ about a question of 
precedence.” 

shall settle it for them both,” replied Front-de-Boeuf ; 
‘^they shall hang on the same gallows, unless his master and 
this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well for their lives. 
Their wealth is the least they can surrender; they must 
also carry off with them the swarms that are besetting the 
castle, subscribe a surrender of their pretended immunities, 
and live under us as serfs and vassals; too happy if, in the 
new world that is about to begin, we leave them the breath 
of their nostrils. — Go,” said he to two of the attendants, 
^Tetch me the right Cedric hither, and I pardon your error 
for once ; the rather that you but mistook a fool for a Saxon 
franklin.” 

^^Ay, but,” said Wamba, ^^your chivalrous excellency will 
find there are more fools than franklins among us.” 

^^What means the knave?” said Front-de-Boeuf, looking 
towards his followers, who, lingering and loath, faltered 
forth their belief, that if this were not Cedric who was 
there in presence, they knew not what was become of him. 

‘^Saints of Heaven!” exclaimed De Bracy, ^‘he must have 
escaped in the monk’s garments 1” 

^^Fiends of hell!” echoed Front-de-Boeuf, ^^it was then the 
boar of Eotherwood whom I ushered to the postern, and 
dismissed with my own hands ! — And thou,” he said to 
Wamba, ^Vhose folly could overreach the wisdom of idiots 
yet more gross than thyself — I will give thee holy orders — 
I will shave thy crown for thee! — Here, let them tear the 
scalp from his head, and then pitch him headlong from the 
battlements. — Thy trade is to jest, canst thou jest now?” 

^‘You deal with me better than your word, noble knight,” 
whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits of buffoonery 
were not to be overcome even by the immediate prospect of 
death; ^^if you give me the red cap^ you propose, out of a 
simple monk you will make a cardinal.” 

^^The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, ^^is resolved to die in 
his vocation. — Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not slay him. Give 


* See p. 78. 


2 A cardinal’s chief symbol of dignity is a red hat. 


IVANHOE. 


2^65 


him to me to make sport for my Free Companions. — How 
sayest thou, knave? Wilt thou take heart of grace, and go 
to the wars with me?’’ 

^^Ay, with my master’s leave,” said Wamba; ^^for look 
you, I must not slip collar” (and he touched that which he 
wore) “without his permission.” 

“Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,” said 
De Bracy. 

“Ay, noble sir,” said Wamba, “and thence goes the pro- 
verb — 

‘Norman saw on English oak, 

On English neck a Norman yoke; 

Norman spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish; 

Blithe world to England never will be more, 

Till England’s rid of all the four.’ ’ ’ 

“Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “to 
stand there listening to a fool’s jargon, when destruction 
is gaping for us ! Seest thou not we are overreached, and 
that our proposed mode of communicating with our friends 
without has been disconcerted by this same motley gentle- 
man thou art so fond to brother? What views have we to 
expect but instant storm?” 

“To the battlements, then,” said De Bracy; “when didst 
thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of battle ? Call 
the Templar yonder, and let him fight out half so well for 
his life as he has done for his Order. — Make thou to the 
walls thyself with thy huge body. — Let me do my poor 
endeavour in my own way, and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws 
may as well attempt to scale the clouds, as the castle of 
Torquilstone ; or, if you will treat with the banditti, why 
not employ the mediation of this worthy franklin, who 
seems in such deep contemplation of the wine-fiagon? — 
Here, Saxon,” he continued, addressing Athelstane, and 
handing the cup to him, “rinse thy throat with that noble 
liquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt do for 
thy liberty.” 

“What a man of mould may,” answered Athelstane, “pro- 
viding it be what a man of manhood ought. — Dismiss me 


266 


IVANHOE. 


free with, my companions, and I will pay a ransom of a 
thousand marks/^ 

‘‘And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum of 
mankind who are swarming around the castle, contrary to 
God’s peace and the king’s?” said Front-de-Boeuf. 

“In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “I will with- 
draw them; and I fear not but that my father Cedric will 
do his best to assist me.” 

“We are agreed then,” said Front-de-Boeuf — “thou and 
they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be on both sides, 
for payment of a thousand marks. It is a trifling ransom, 
Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude to. the moderation which 
accepts of it in exchange of your persons. But mark, this 
extends not to the Jew Isaac.” 

“Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Templar, 
who had now joined them. 

“Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “belong to the Saxon’s 
company.” 

“I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did,” 
replied Athelstane; “deal with the unbelievers as ye list.” 

“Neither does the ransom include the Lady Eowena,” said 
De Bracy. “It shall never be said I was scared out of a 
fair prize without striking a blow for it.” 

“Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “does our treaty refer 
to this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I may make 
him an example to every knave who turns jest into earnest.” 

“The Lady Eowena,” answered Athelstane, with the most 
steady countenance, “is my affianced bride. I will be drawn 
by wild horses before I consent to part with her. The slave 
Wamba has this day saved the life of my father Cedric. I 
will lose mine ere a hair of his head be injured.” 

“Thy affianced bride? — The Lady Eowena the affianced 
bride of a vassal like thee?” said De Bracy. “Saxon, thou 
dreamest that the days of thy seven kingdoms^ are returned 
again. I tell thee, the Princes of the House of Anjou confer 
not their wards on men of such lineage as thine.” 

“My lineage, proud Norman,” replied Athelstane, “is 
drawn from a source more pure and ancient than that of 


* The Heptarchy of Saxon times. 


IVANHOE. 


267 

a beggarly Frenchman, whose living is won by selling the 
blood of the thieves whom he assembles under his paltry 
standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and 
wise in council, who every day feasted in their hall more 
hundreds than thou canst number individual followers ; 
whose names have been sung by minstrels, and their laws 
recorded by Wittenagemotes;^ whose bones were interred 
amid the prayers of saints, and over whose tombs minsters 
have been builded.” 

^^Thou hast it, De Bracy,’’ said Front-de-Boeuf, well 
pleased with the rebuff which his companion had received; 
^‘the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.^^ 

“As fairly as a captive can strike,^^ said De Bracy, with 
apparent carelessness; “for he whose hands are tied should 
have his tongue at freedom. — But thy glibness of reply, 
comrade,^’ rejoined he, speaking to Athelstane, “will not 
win the freedom of the Lady Kowena.” 

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer 
speech than was his custom to do on any topic, however 
interesting, returned no answer. The conversation was 
interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who announced that 
a monk demanded admittance at the postern gate. 

“In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of these bull- 
beggars,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “have we. a real monk this 
time, or another imposter? Search him, slaves — for an ye 
suffer a second impostor to be palmed upon you, I will have 
your eyes torn out, and hot coals put into the sockets.” 

“Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord,” 
said Giles, “if this be not a real shaveling. ^ Your squire 
Jocelyn knows him well, and will vouch him to be brother 
Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon the Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

“Admit him,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “most likely he 
brings us news from his jovial master. Surely the devil 
keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved from duty, that 
they are strolling thus wildly through the country. Eemove 
these prisoners ; and, Saxon, think on what tholi hast heard.” 

“I claim,” said Athelstane, “an honourable imprisonment, 
with due care of my board and of my couch, as becomes 
my rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty for ransom. 

^ Saxon National Councils or Parliaments. * real monk. 


268 


IVANHOE. 


Moreover, I hold him that deems himself the best of you, 
bound to answer to me with his body for this aggression on 
my freedom. This defiance hath already been sent to thee 
by thy sewer; thou underliest it, and art bound to answer 
me. There lies my glove.^^^ 

‘‘1 answer not the challenge of my prisoner, said Front- 
de-Boeuf; ‘^nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy. — Giles,” he 
continued, ^Tang the franklin^s glove upon the tine of yon- 
der branched antlers ; there shall it remain until he is a free 
man. Should he then presume to demand it, or to affirm 
he was unlawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of Saint 
Christopher,^ he will speak to one who hath never refused to 
meet a foe on foot, or on horseback, alone or with his vassals 
at his back !” 

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as 
they introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared to be in 
great perturbation. 

^This is the real Deits vobiscum/' said Wamba, as he 
passed the reverend brother; ^The others were but counter- 


feits.” 


^^Holy mother !” said the monk, as he addressed the assem- 
bled knights, “I am at last safe and in Christian keeping!” 

‘^Safe thou art,” replied De Bracy; ^^and for Christianity, 
here is the stout Baron Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, whose utter 
abomination is a Jew; and the good Knight Templar, Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to slay Saracens. If these 
are not good marks of Christianity, I know no other which 
they bear about them.” 

“Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in God, 
Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,” said the monk, without noticing 
the tone of De Bracy's reply; “ye owe him aid both by 
knightly faith and holy charity; for what saith the blessed 
Saint Augustin,® in his treatise De Civitate Dei—' 

“What saith the devil!” interrupted Front-de-Boeuf; “or 
rather what dost thou say. Sir Priest? We have little time 
to hear texts' from the holy fathers.” 


Syria. He was said to be of prodigious 
height and strength, and to have carried 
pilgrims across a river that had no 


* There is my challenge. 

2 a martyer of the third century in 

L/rio T-To xxroa 


bridge. 


* a reverend father and writer of the 
Christian Church, born at Sagaste, 
Africa, in a.d. 354, died in 430. 


IVANHOE. 


269 


''Sancta Maria T ejaculated Father Ambrose, ^diow prompt 
to ire are these unhallowed laymen ! — But be it known to you, 
brave knights, that certain murderous caitiffs, casting behind 
them fear of God, and reverence of his church, and not regard- 
ing the bull of the holy see, 8i quis, suadente diabolo — '' 

^^Brother priest,” said the Templar, ^^all this we know or 
guess at — tell us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made 
prisoner, and to whom?” 

‘^Surely,” said Ambrose, “he is in the hands of the men 
of Belial, infesters of these woods, and contemners of the 
holy text, ‘Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets 
nought of evil/ ” 

“Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,” said Front- 
de-Boeuf, turning to his companions; “and so, instead of 
reaching us any assistance, the Prior of Jorvaulx requests 
aid at our hands? A man is well helped of these lazy 
churchmen when he hath most to do ! — But speak out, 
priest, and say at once, what doth thy master expect from 
us ?” 

“So please you,” said Ambrose, “violent hands having 
been imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to the holy 
ordinance which I did already quote, and the men of Belial 
having rifled his mails and budgets, and stripped him of 
two hundred marks of pure refined gold, they do yet demand 
of him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him to depart 
from their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore the reverend 
father in God prays you, as his dear friends, to rescue him, 
either by paying down the ransom at which they hold him, 
or by force of arms, at your best discretion.” 

“The foul fiend quell the Prior !” said Front-de-Boeuf ; 
“his morning’s draught has been a deep one. When did thy 
master hear of a Norman baron unbuckling his purse to 
relieve a churchman, whose bags are ten times as weighty as 
ours? — And how can we do aught by valour to free him, 
that are cooped up here by ten times our number, and expect 
an assault every moment?” 

“And that was what I was about to tell you,” said the 
monk, “had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God help 
me, I am old, and these foul onslaughts distract an aged 


270 


IVANHOE. 


man’s brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity that they assemble 
a camp, and raise a bank against the walls of this castle.” 

^^To the battlements !” cried De Bracy, ^^and let us mark 
what these knaves do without;” and so saying, he opened 
a latticed window which led to a sort of bartizan or pro- 
jecting balcony, and immediately called from thence to those 
in the apartment — “Saint Denis, but the old monk hath 
brought true tidings ! — They bring forward mantelets and 
pavisses,^ and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood 
like a dark cloud before a hail-storm.” 

Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field, 
and immediately snatched his bugle; and, after winding a 
long and loud blast, commanded his men to their posts on 
the walls. 

“De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are 
lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught 
thee how to attack and. defend, look thou to the western 
side — I myself will take post at the barbican. Yet, do not 
confine your exertions to any one spot, noble friends ! — 
we must this day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves, 
were it possible, so as to carry by our presence succour and 
relief wherever the attack is hottest. Our numbers are few, 
but activity and courage may supply that defect, since we 
have only to do with rascal clowns.” 

“But, noble knights,” exclaimed Father Ambrose, amidst 
the bustle and confusion occasioned by the preparations for 
defence, “will none of ye hear the message of the reverend 
father in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx? — I beseech thee 
to hear me, noble Sir Eeginald K’ 

“Go patter thy petitions to heaven,” said the fierce Nor- 
man, “for we on earth have no time to listen to them. — 
Ho ! there, Anselm ! see that seething pitch and oil are 
ready to pour on the heads of these audacious traitors. 
Look that the crossbowmen lack not bolts.^ Fling abroad 
my banner with the old bull’s head — the knaves shall soon 
find with whom they have to do this day !” 

* Mantelets were temporary and mov- iag the whole person, employed on the 
able defenses formed of planks, under same occasions. 

cover of which the assailants advanced 2 The holt was the arrow peculiarly 
to the attack of fortified places. Pa vis- fitted to the crossbow; the arrow of the 
ses were a species of large shields cover- longbow was called a shaft. 


IVANHOE. 


2n 


noble sir,” continued the monk, persevering in his 
endeavours to draw attention, ^^consider my vow of obe- 
dience, and let me discharge myself of my superior’s errand.” 

^^Away with this prating dotard,” said Front-de-Boeuf, 
^dock him up in the chapel, to tell his beads till the broil be 
over. It will be a new thing to the saints in Torquilstone 
to hear aves and paters; they have not been so honoured, I 
trow, since they were cut out of stone.” 

“Blaspheme not the holy saints. Sir Eeginald,” said De 
Bracy; “we shall have need of their aid to-day before yon 
rascal rout disband.” 

“I expect little aid from their hand,” said Front-de-Boeuf, 
“unless we were to hurl them from the battlements on the 
heads of the villains. There is a huge lumbering Saint 
Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear a whole company to 
the earth.” 

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on 
the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more attention 
than the brutal Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy companion. 

“By the faith of mine order,” he said, “these men ap- 
proach with more touch of discipline than could have been 
judged, however they come by it. See ye how dexterously 
they avail themselves of every cover which a tree or bush 
affords, and shun exposing themselves to the shot of our 
cross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, 
and yet will I gage my golden chain, that they are led on 
by some noble knight or gentleman, skilful in the practice 
of wars.” 

“I espy him,” said De Bracy; “I see the waving of a 
knight’s crest, and the gleam of his armour. See yon tall 
man in the black mail, who is busied marshalling the far- 
ther troop of the rascaille yeomen — by Saint Denis, I told 
him to be the same whom we called Le Noir Faineant, who 
overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in the lists of Ashby.” 

“So much the better,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “that he comes 
here to give me my revenge. Some hiding fellow he must 
be, who dared not stay to assert his claim to the tourney 
prize which chance had assigned him. I should in vain have 
sought for him where knights and nobles seek their foes. 


272 


IVANHOE. 


and right glad I am he hath here shown himself among yon 
villain yeomanry.” 

The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate approach 
cut off all farther discourse. Each knight repaired to his 
post, and at the head of the few followers whom they were 
able to muster, and who were in numbers inadequate to 
defend the whole extent of the walls, they awaited with 
calm determination the threatened assault. 


CHAPTEE XXVIII 

THE WOUNDED IVANHOE AT ASHBY. REBECCA’S CARE OF HIM. CAP- 
TURE BY DE BRACY. ARRIVAL AT TORQUILSTONE. 

Our history must needs retrograde for the space of a 
few pages, to inform the reader of certain passages material 
to his understanding the rest of this important narrative. 
His own intelligence may indeed have easily anticipated 
that, when Ivanhoe sunk down, and seemed abandoned by 
all the world, it was the importunity of Eebecca wEich pre- 
vailed on her father to have the gallant young warrior trans- 
ported from the lists to the house which for the time the 
Jews inhabited in the suburbs of Ashby. 

It would not have been difficult to have persuaded Isaac 
to this step in any other circumstances, for his disposition 
was kind and grateful. But he had also the prejudices 
and scrupulous timidity of his persecuted people, and those 
were to be conquered. 

^^Holy Abraham!” he exclaimed, ^ffie is a good youth, 
and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle down his rich 
embroidered hacqueton,^ and his corselet of goodly price — 
but to carry him to our house ! — damsel, hast thou well con- 
sidered? — ^he is a Christian, and by our law we may not 
deal with the stranger and Gentile, save for the advantage 
of our commerce.” 

^^Speak not so, my dear father,” replied Eebecca; ^Ve 
may not indeed mix with them in banquet and in jollity; 
but in wounds and in misery, the Gentile becometh the Jew’s 
brother.” 


^ a stuffed jacket worn under armor. 


IVANHOE. 


would I knew what the Eabbi Jacob Ben Tudela would 
opine on it/^ replied Isaac; — ‘^nevertheless, the good youth 
must not bleed to death. Let Seth and Keuben bear him 
to Ashby.^^ 

“Nay, let them place him in my litter, said Eebecca; “I 
will mount one of the palfreys.” 

“That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs of 
Ishmael and of Edom,” whispered Isaac, with a suspicious 
glance towards the crowd of knights and squires. But 
Eebecca was already busied in carrying her charitable pur- 
pose into effect, and listed not what he said, until Isaac, 
seizing the sleeve of her mantle, again exclaimed, in a 
hurried voice — “Beard of Aaron ! — what if the youth perish ! 
If he died in our custody, shall we not be held guilty of his 
blood, and be torn to pieces by the multitude?” 

“He will not die, my father,” said Eebecca, gently extri- 
cating herself from the grasp of Isaac — “he will not die 
unless we abandon him; and if so, we are indeed answerable 
for his blood to God and to man.” 

“Nay,” said Isaac, releasing his hold, “it grieveth me 
as much to see the drops of his blood, as if they were so 
many golden byzants from mine own purse; and I well 
know, that the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the Eabbi 
Manasses of Byzantium, whose soul is in Paradise, have 
made thee skilful in the art of healing, and that thou 
knowest the craft of herbs, and the force of elixirs. There- 
fore, do as thy mind giveth thee — thou art a good damsel, 
a blessing, and a crown, and a song of rejoicing unto me 
and unto my house, and unto the people of my fathers.” 

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill-founded ; 
and the generous and grateful benevolence of his daughter 
exposed her, on her return to Ashby, to the unhallowed gaze 
of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The Templar twice passed and 
repassed them on the road, fixing his bold and ardent look 
on the beautiful Jewess; and we have already seen the con- 
sequences of the admiration which her charms excited, when 
accident threw her into the power of that unprincipled 
voluptuary. 

Eebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be trans- 


274 


IVANHOE. 


ported to their temporary dwelling, and proceeded with her 
own hands to examine and to bind up his wounds. The 
youngest reader of romances and romantic ballads, must 
recollect how often the females, during the dark ages, as 
they are called, were initiated into the mysteries of surgery, 
and how frequently the gallant knight submitted the wounds 
of his person to her cure, whose eyes had yet more deeply 
penetrated his heart. 

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and 
practised the medical science in all its branches, and the 
monarchs and powerful barons of the time frequently com- 
mitted themselves to the charge of some experienced sage 
among this despised people, when wounded or in sickness. 
The aid of the Jewish physicians was not the less eagerly 
sought after, though a general belief prevailed among the 
Christians, that the Jewish Eabbins were deeply acquainted 
with the occult sciences, and particularly with the cabalisti- 
cal art,^ which had its name and origin in the studies of 
the sages of Israel. Neither did the Eabbins disown such 
acquaintance with supernatural arts, which added nothing 
(for what could add aught?) to the hatred with which their 
nation was regarded, while it diminished the contempt with 
which that malevolence was mingled. A J ewish magician 
might be the subject of equal abhorrence with a Jewish 
usurer, but he could not be equally despised. It is besides 
probable, considering the wonderful cures they are said to 
have performed, that the Jews possessed some secrets of 
the healing art peculiar to themselves, and which, with the 
exclusive spirit arising out of their condition, they took 
great care to conceal from the Christians amongst whom 
they dwelt. 

The beautiful Eebecca had been heedfully brought up in 
all the knowledge proper to her nation, which her apt and 
powerful mind had retained, arranged, and enlarged, in 
the course of a progress beyond her years, her sex, and even 
the age in which she lived. Her knowledge of medicine and 
the healing art had been acquired under an aged Jewess, 
the daughter of one of their most celebrated doctors, who 


* See note, p. 1 10, cabaliats. 


IVANHOE. 


^75 


loved Eebecca as her own child, and was believed to have 
communicated to her secrets, which had been left to herself 
by her sage father at the same time, and under the same 
circumstances. The fate of Miriam had indeed been to 
fall a sacrifice to the fanaticism of the times; but her secrets 
had survived in her apt pupil. 

Eebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with beauty, 
was universally revered and admired by her own tribe, who 
almost regarded her as one of those gifted women mentioned 
in the sacred history. Her father himself, out of reverence 
for her talents, which involuntarily mingled itself with his 
unbounded affection, permitted the maiden a greater liberty 
than was usually indulged to those of her sex by the habits 
of her people, and was, as we have just seen, frequently 
guided by her opinion, even in preference to his own. 

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he was 
still in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the profuse 
loss of blood which had taken place during his exertions in 
the lists. Eebecca examined the wound, and having applied 
to it such vulnerary^ remedies as her art prescribed, informed 
her father that if fever could be averted, of which the great 
bleeding rendered her little apprehensive, and if the healing 
balsam of Miriam retained its virtue, there was nothing to 
fear for his guest’s life, and that he might with safety travel 
to York with them on the ensuing day. Isaac looked a little 
blank at this annunciation. His charity would willingly 
have stopped short at Ashby, or at most would have left 
the wounded Christian to be tended in the house where he 
was residing at present, with an assurance to the Hebrew 
to whom it belonged, that all expenses should be duly dis- 
charged. To this, however, Eebecca opposed many reasons, 
of which we shall only mention two that had peculiar weight 
with Isaac. The one was, that she would on no account put 
the phial of precious balsam into the hands of another phy- 
sician even of her own tribe, lest that valuable mystery 
should be discovered; the other, that this wounded knight, 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, was an intimate favourite of Eichard 
Cceur-de-Lion, and that, in case the monarch should return. 


1 tending to cure wounds. 


276 


IVANHOE. 


Isaac, who had supplied his brother John with treasure to 
prosecute his rebellious purposes, would stand in no small 
need of a powerful protector who enjoyed Eichard^s favour. 

^^Thou are speaking but sooth,^ Eebecca,” said Isaac, giv- 
ing way to these weighty arguments — ^^it were an offending 
of Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed Miriam; for 
the good which Heaven giveth, is not rashly to be squandered 
upon others, whether it be talents of gold and shekels of 
silver, or whether it be the secret mysteries of a wise phy- 
sician — assuredly, they should be preserved to those to whom 
Providence hath vouchsafed them. And him whom the 
Nazarenes of England call the Lion’s Heart, assuredly it 
were better for me to fall into the hands of a strong lion 
of Idumea than into his, if he shall have got assurance of 
my dealings with his brother. Wherefore I will lend ear to 
thy counsel, and this youth shall journey with us to York, 
and our house shall be as a home to him until his wounds 
shall be healed. And if he of the Lion Heart shall return 
to the land, as is now noised abroad, then shall this Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe be unto me as a wall of defence, when the king’s 
displeasure shall burn high against thy father. And if he 
doth not return, this Wilfred may natheless repay us our 
charges when he shall gain treasure by the strength of his 
spear and of his sword, even as he did yesterday and this 
day also. For the youth is a good youth, and keepeth the 
day which he appointeth, and restoreth that which he bor- 
roweth, and succoureth the Israelite, even the child of my 
father’s house, when he is encompassed by strong thieves 
and sons of Belial.” 

It was not until evening was nearly closed that Ivanhoe 
was restored to . consciousness of his situation. - He awoke 
from a broken slumber, under the confused impressions 
which are naturally attendant on the recovery from a state 
of insensibility. He was unable for some time to recall 
exactly to memory the circumstances which had preceded his 
fall in the lists, or to make out any connected chain of the 
events in which he had been engaged upon the yesterday. 
A sense of wounds and injury, joined to great weakness and 


only truth. 


IVANHOE. 


2’77 


exhaustion, was mingled with the recollection of blows dealt 
and received, of steeds rushing upon each other, overthrow- 
ing and overthrown — of shouts and clashing of arms, and 
all the heady tumult of a confused fight. An effort to draw 
aside the curtain of his couch was in some degree successful, 
although rendered difficult by the pain of his wound. 

To his great surprise he found himself in a room magnifi- 
cently furnished, but having cushions instead of chairs to 
rest upon, and in other respects partaking so much of 
Oriental costume, that he began to doubt whether he had 
not, during his sleep, been transported back again to the 
land of Palestine. The impression was increased, when, the 
tapestry being drawn aside, a female form, dressed in a 
rich habit, which partook more of the Eastern taste than 
that of Europe, glided through the door which it concealed, 
and was followed by a swarthy domestic. 

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair 
apparition, she imposed silence by placing her slender finger 
upon her ruby lips, while the attendant, approaching him, 
proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe’s side, and the lovely Jewess 
satisfied herself that the bandage was in its place, and the 
wound doing well. She performed her task with a graceful 
and dignified simplicity and modesty, which might, even 
in more civilised days, have served to redeem it from what- 
ever might seem repugnant to female delicacy. The idea 
of so young and beautiful a person engaged in attendance on 
a sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of one of a different 
sex, was melted away and lost in that of a beneficent being 
contributing her effectual aid to relieve pain, and to avert 
the stroke of death. Kebecca’s few and brief directions were 
given in the Hebrew language to the old domestic; and he, 
who had been frequently her assistant in similar cases, 
obeyed them without reply. 

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh they 
might have sounded when uttered by another, had, coming 
from the beautiful Eebecca, the romantic and pleasing effect 
which fancy ascribes to the charms pronounced by some 
beneficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear, but, from 
the sweetness of utterance, and benignity of aspect, which 


278 


IVANHOE. 


accompanied them, touching and affecting to the heart. 
Without making an attempt at further question, Ivanhoe 
suffered them in silence to take the measures they thought 
most proper for his recovery; and it was not until those 
were completed, and this kind physician about to retire^ 
that his curiosity could no longer be suppressed. — ^^Gentlo 
maiden,^^ he began in the Arabian tongue, with which his 
Eastern travels had rendered him familiar, and which he 
thought most likely to be understood by the turban’d and 
caftan’d^ damsel who stood before him — ^‘1 pray you, gentle 
maiden, of your courtesy — 

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, a smile 
which she could scarce suppress dimpling for an instant 
a face, whose general expression was that of contemplative 
melancholy. am of England, Sir Knight, and speak the 
English tongue, although my dress and my lineage belong, 
to another climate.” 

‘‘Noble damsel,” — again the Knight of Ivanhoe began; 
and again Eebecca hastened to interrupt him. 

“Bestow not on me. Sir Knight,” she said, “the epithet 
of noble. It is well you should speedily know that your 
handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the daughter of that Isaac 
of York, to whom you were so lately a good and kind lord. 
It well becomes him, and those of his household, to render 
to you such careful tendance as your present state neces- 
sarily demands.” 

I know not whether the fair Eowena would have been 
altogether satisfied with the species of emotion with which 
her devoted knight had hitherto gazed on the beautiful fea- 
tures, and fair form, and lustrous eyes, of the lovely Eebecca ; 
eyes whose brilliancy was shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, 
by the fringe of her long silken eye-lashes, and which a 
minstrel would have compared to the evening star darting 
its rays through a bower of jessamine. But Ivanhoe was 
too good a Catholic to retain the same class of feelings 
towards a Jewess. This Eebecca had foreseen, and for this 
very purpose she had hastened to mention her father’s name 
and lineage; yet— for the fair and wise daughter of Isaac 

» wearing a caftan, a kind of Turkish gown, having long sleeves covering the 
hands and girded with a sash. 


IVANHOE. 


2^79 


was not without a touch of female weakness — she could not 
but sigh internally when the glance of respectful admira- 
tion, not altogether unmixed with tenderness, with which 
Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded his unknown benefactress, 
was exchanged at once for a manner cold, composed, and 
collected, and fraught with no deeper feeling than that which 
expressed a grateful sense of courtesy received from an 
unexpected quarter, and from one of an inferior race. It 
was not that Ivanhoe^s former carriage expressed more than 
that general devotional homage which youth always pays 
to beauty; yet it was mortifying that one word should 
operate as a spell to remove poor Eebecca, who could not 
be supposed altogether ignorant of her title to such homage, 
into a degraded class, to whom it could not be honourably 
rendered. 

But the gentleness and candour of Eebecca’s nature 
imputed no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the universal 
prejudices of his age and religion. On the contrary, the 
fair Jewess, though sensible her patient now regarded her 
as one of a race of reprobation, with whom it was disgrace- 
ful to hold any beyond the most necessary intercourse, 
ceased not to pay the same patient and devoted attention 
to his safety and convalescence. She informed him of the 
necessity they were under of removing to York, and of her 
father’s resolution to transport him thither, and tend him 
in his own house until his. health should be restored. Ivan- 
hoe expressed great repugnance to this plan, which he 
grounded on unwillingness to give farther trouble to his 
benefactors. 

‘^Was there not,” he said, ^^in Ashby, or near it, some 
Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant, who would 
endure the burden of a wounded countryman’s residence 
with him until he should be again able to bear his armour? 
— Was there no convent of Saxon endowment, where ' he 
could be received? — Or could he not be transported as far as 
Burton, where he was sure to find hospitality with Waltheoff, 
the Abbot of St. Withold’s, to whom he was related?” 

^^Any, the worst of these harbourages,” said Eebecca, with 
a melancholy smile, ^Vould unquestionably be more fitting 


280 


IVANHOE. 


for your residence than the abode of a despised Jew; yet, 
Sir Knight, unless you would dismiss your physician, you 
cannot change your lodging. Our nation, as you well know, 
can cure wounds, though we deal not in inflicting them; and 
in our own family, in particular, are secrets which have been 
handed down since the days of Solomon, and of which you 
have already experienced the advantages. No Nazarene — 
I crave your forgiveness. Sir Knight — ^no Christian leech, 
within the four seas of Britain, could enable you to bear 
your corselet within a month.^^ 

^^And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it?” said 
Ivanhoe, impatiently. 

^^Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and conform- 
able to my directions,” replied Eebecca. 

^^By Our Blessed Lady,” said Wilfred, ^flf it be not a 
sin to name her here, it is no time for me or any true knight 
to be bedridden ; and if thou accomplish thy promise, 
maiden, I will pay thee with my casque full of crowns, come 
by them as I may.” 

will accomplish my promise,” said Eebecca, ^^and thou 
shalt bear thine armour on the eighth day from hence, if thou 
will grant me but one boon in the stead of the silver thou 
dost promise me.” 

^^If it be within my power, and such as a true Christian 
knight may yield to one of thy people,” replied Ivanhoe, 
will grant thy boon blithely and thankfully.” 

^‘Nay,” answered Eebecca, “I will but pray of thee to 
believe henceforward that a Jew may do good service to a 
Christian, without desiring other guerdon than the blessing 
of the Great Father who made both Jew and Gentile.” 

‘‘It were sin to doubt it, maiden,” replied Ivanhoe; ^^and 
I repose myself on thy skill without further scruple or 
question, well trusting you will enable me to bear my corse- 
let on the eighth day. And now, my kind leech, let me 
enquire the news abroad. What of the noble Saxon Cedric 
and his household? — what of the lovely Lady” — He stopt, 
as if unwilling to speak Eowena’s name in the house of a 
Jew — ''Of her, I mean, who was named Queen of the tourna- 
ment ?” 


IVANHOE, 


^■si 

^^And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to hold that 
dignity, with judgment which was admired as much as your 
valour,” replied Kebecca. 

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a flush 
from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had incautiously 
betrayed his deep interest in Eowena by the awkward at- 
tempt he had made to conceal it. 

^Tt was less of her I would speak,” said he, ^Than of 
Prince John; and I would fain know somewhat of a faithful 
squire, and why he now attends me not.” 

‘^Let.me use my authority as a leech,” answered Eebecca, 
^^and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid agitating reflec- 
tions, whilst I apprise you of what you desire to know. 
Prince John hath broken off the tournament, and set for- 
ward in all haste towards York, with the nobles, knights, 
and churchmen of his party, after collecting such sums as 
they could wring, by fair means or foul, from those who are 
esteemed the wealthy of the land. It is said he designs to 
assume his brother’s crown.” 

^‘Not without a blow struck in its defence,” said Ivanhoe, 
raising himself upon the couch, “if there were but one true 
subject in England. I will fight for Eichard’s title with the 
best of them^ — ay, one to two, in his just quarrel !” 

“But that you may be able to do so,” said Eebecca, touch- 
ing his shoulder with her hand, “you must now observe my 
directions, and remain quiet.” 

“True, maiden,” said Ivanhoe, “as quiet as these disquieted 
times will permit. — And of Cedric and his household?” 

“His steward came but brief while since,” said the Jewess, 
“panting with haste, to ask my father for certain monies, 
the price of wool the growth of Cedric’s flocks, and from 
him X learned that Cedric and Athelstane of Coningsburgh 
had left Prince John’s lodging in high displeasure, and 
were about to set forth on their return homeward.” 

“Went any lady with them to the banquet?” said Wilfred. 

“The Lady Eowena,” said Eebecca, answering the question 
with more precision than it had been asked — “The Lady 
Eowena went not to the Prince’s feast, and, as the steward 
reported to us, she is now on her journey back to Eother- 


282 


IVANHOE. 


wood, with her guardian Cedric. And touching your faith- 
ful squire Gurth — ” 

exclaimed the knight, ^toowest thou his name? 
— But thou dost,” he immediately added, ^^and well thou 
mayst, for it was from thy hand, and, as I am now convinced, 
from thine own generosity of spirit, that he received but 
yesterday a hundred zecchins.” 

'^Speak not of that,” said Eebecca, blushing deeply; 
see how easy it is for the tongue to betray what the heart 
would gladly conceal.” 

^^But this sum of gold,” said Ivanhoe, gravely, ^^my honour 
is concerned in repaying it to your father.” 

“Let it be as thou wilt,” said Eebecca, “when eight days 
have passed away; but think not, and speak not now, of 
aught that may retard thy recovery.” 

“Be it so, kind maiden,” said Ivanhoe; “it were most un- 
grateful to dispute thy commands. But one word of the 
fate of poor Gurth, and I have done with questioning thee.” 

“I grieve to tell thee. Sir Knight,” answered the Jewess, 
“that he is in custody by the order of Cedric.” — And then, 
observing the distress which her communication gave to 
Wilfred, she instantly added, “But the steward Oswald 
said, that if nothing occurred to renew his master’s dis- 
pleasure against him, he was sure that Cedric would pardon 
Gurth, a faithful serf, and one who stood high in favour, 
and who had but committed this error out of the love that 
he bore to Cedric’s son. And he said, moreover, that he 
and his comrades, and especially Wamba the Jester, were 
resolved to warn Gurth to make his escape by the way, in 
case Cedric’s ire against him could not be mitigated.” 

“Would to God they may keep their purpose!” said 
Ivanhoe; ^‘but it seems as if I were destined to bring ruin 
on whomsoever hath shown kindness to me. My king, by 
whom I was honoured and distinguished, thou seest that 
the brother most indebted to him is raising his arms to 
grasp his crown; — my regard hath brought restraint and 
trouble on the fairest of her sex; — and now my father in 
his mood may slay this poor bondsman, but for his love and 
loyal service to me! — Thou seest, maiden, what an ill-fated 


IVANHOE. 


2^83 


wretch thou dost labour to assist; be wise, and let me go, 
ere the misfortunes which track my footsteps like slot- 
hounds, shall involve thee also in their pursuit/^ 

“Nay,’^ said Eebecca, ‘^thy weakness and thy grief. Sir 
Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of Heaven. 
Thou hast been restored to thy country when it most needed 
the assistance of a strong hand and a true heart, and thou 
hast humbled the pride of thine enemies and those of thy 
king, when their horn was most highly exalted; and for the 
evil which thou hast sustained, seest thou not that Heaven 
has raised thee a helper and a physician, even among the 
most despised of the land? — Therefore, be of good courage, 
and trust that thou • art preserved for some marvel which 
thine arm shall work before this people. Adieu — and having 
taken the medicine which I shall send thee by the hand 
of Eeuben, compose thyself again to rest, that thou mayest 
be the more able to endure the journey on the succeeding 
day."' 

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed the 
directions, of Eebecca. The draught which Eeuben adminis- 
tered was of a sedative and narcotic quality, and secured 
the patient sound and undisturbed slumbers. In the morning 
his kind physician found him entirely free from feverish 
symptoms, and fit to undergo the fatigue of a journey. 

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had brought 
him from the lists, and every precaution taken for his 
travelling with ease. In one circumstance only even the 
entreaties of Eebecca were unable to secure sufficient atten- 
tion to the accommodation of the wounded knight. Isaac, 
like the enriched traveller of Juvenal's tenth satire, had 
ever the fear of robbery before his eyes, conscious that he 
would be alike accounted fair game by the marauding Her- 
man noble, and by the Saxon outlaw. He therefore 
journeyed at a great rate, and made short halts, and shorter 
repasts, so that he passed by Cedric and Athelstane, who 
had several hours the start of him, but who had been delayed 
by their protracted feasting at the convent of Saint With- 
old's. Yet such was the virtue of Miriam's balsam, or 
such the strength of Ivanhoe's constitution, that he did not 


284 


IVANHOE. 


sustain from the hurried journey that inconvenience which 
his kind physician had apprehended. 

In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste proved 
somewhat more than good speed. The rapidity with which 
he insisted on travelling, bred several disputes between him 
and the party whom he had hired to attend him as a guard. 
These men were Saxons, and not free by any means from 
the national love of ease and good living which the Normans 
stigmatised as laziness and gluttony. Keversing Shylock’s 
position, they had accepted the employment in hopes of 
feeding upon the wealthy Jew, and wei*e very much dis- 
pleased when they found themselves disappointed, by the 
rapidity with which he insisted on their proceeding. They 
remonstrated also upon the risk of damage to their horses 
by these forced marches. Finally, there arose betwixt Isaac 
and his satellites a deadly feud, concerning the quantity of 
wine and ale to be allowed for consumption at each meal. 
And thus it happened, that when the alarm of danger 
approached, and that which Isaac feared was likely to 
come upon him, he was deserted by the discontented mer- 
cenaries on whose protection he had relied, without using 
the means necessary to secure their attachment. 

In this deplorable condition the Jew, with his daughter 
and her wounded patient, was found by Cedric, as has 
already been noticed, and soon afterwards fell into the 
power of De Bracy and his confederates. Little notice was 
at first taken of the horse-litter, and it might have remained 
behind but for the curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into 
it under the impression that it might contain the object of 
his enterprise, for Eowena had not unveiled herself. But 
De Bracy’s astonishment was conside?:able, when he dis- 
covered that the litter contained a wounded' man, who, con- 
ceiving himself to have fallen into the power of Saxon out- 
laws, with whom his name might be a protection for himself 
and his friends, frankly avowed himself to be Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe. 

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his wildness 
and levity, never utterly abandoned De Bracy, prohibited 
him from doing the knight any injury in his defenceless 


IVANHOE. 


285 


condition and equally interdicted his betraying him to Front- 
de-Boeuf, who would have had no scruples to put to death, 
under any circumstances, the rival claimant of the fief of 
Ivanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate a suitor preferred 
by the Lady Kowena, as the events of the tournament, and 
indeed Wilfred’s previous banishment from his father’s 
house, had made matter of notoriety, was a pitch far above 
the flight of De Bracy’s generosity. A middle course bewixt 
good and evil was all which he found himself capable of 
adopting, and he commanded two of his own squires to 
keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one to approach it. 
If questioned, they were directed by their master to say 
that the empty litter of the Lady Eowena was employed 
to transport one of their comrades who had been wounded 
in the scuffle. On arriving at Torquilstone, while the Knight 
Templar and the lord of that castle were each intent upon 
their own schemes, the one on the Jew’s treasure, and the 
other on his daughter, De Bracy’s squires conveyed Ivanhoe, 
still under the name of a wounded comrade, to a distant 
apartment. This explanation was accordingly returned by 
these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when he questioned them why 
they did not make for the battlements upon the alarm. 

“A wounded companion !” he replied in great wrath and 
astonishment. ^^No wonder that churls and yeomen wax 
so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before castles, and 
that clowns and swineherds send defiafices to nobles, since 
men-at-arms have turned sick men’s nurses, and Free Com- 
panions are grown keepers of dying folk’s curtains, when 
the castle is about to be assailed. — To the battlements, ye 
loitering villains !” he exclaimed, raising his stentorian 
voice till the arches around rung again, “to the battlements, 
or I will splinter your bones with this truncheon!” 

The men sulkily replied, “that they desired nothing better 
than to go to the battlements, providing Front-de-Boeuf 
would bear them out with their master, who had commanded 
them to tend the dying man.” 

“The dying man, knaves!” rejoined the Baron; “I prom- 
ise thee we shall all be dying men an we stand not to it the 
more stoutly. But I will relieve the guard upon this caitiff 


286 


IVANHOE. 


companion of yours. — Here, Ur fried — ^hag — fiend of a 
Saxon witch — hearest me not ? — tend me this bedridden 
fellow, since he must needs be tended, whilst these knaves 
use their weapons. — Here be two arblasts,^ comrades, with 
windlaces and quarrells — to the barbican with you, and see 
you drive each bolt through a Saxon brain.’^ 

The men, who like most of their description, were fond 
of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to the 
scene of danger as they were commanded, and thus the 
charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried, or Ulrica. 
But she, whose brain was burning with remembrance of 
injuries and with hopes of vengeance, was readily induced 
to devolve upon Kebecca the care of her patient. 


CHAPTEE XXIX 


AT TORQUILSTONE. IVANHOE WATCHES THE ATTACK ON THE CASTLE. 

REBECCA. 

A MOMENT of peril is often also a moment of open- 
hearted kindness and affection. We are thrown off our guard 
by the general agitation of our feelings, and betray the 
intensity of those which, at more tranquil periods, our 
prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether suppress 
them. In finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe, 
Eebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of pleasure 
which she experienced, even at a time when all around them 
both was danger, if not despair. As she felt his pulse, and 
enquired after his health, there was a softness in her touch 
and in her accents, implying a kinder interest than she 
would herself have been pleased to have voluntarily ex- 
pressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, and it 
was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, ^Ts it you, gentle 
maiden?” which recalled her to herself, and reminded her 
the sensations which she felt were not and could not be 
mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible ; and the 
questions which she asked the knight concerning his state 

* The arblast was a crossbow, the from its square or diamond-shaped head, 
windlace the machine used in bending was the bolt adapted to it. 
that weapon, and the guarrell, so called 


IVANHOE. 


^87 


of health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe 
answered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, 
and better than he could have expected — ^^Thanks,’’ he said, 
^‘dear Eebecca, to thy helpful skill.” 

“He calls me dear Eebecca,” said the maiden to herself, 
“but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the 
word. His war-horse — his hunting hound, are dearer to 
him than the despised Jewess !” 

“My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “is more 
disturbed by anxiety, than my body with pain. From the 
speeches of these men who were my warders just now, I 
learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright of the 
loud hoarse voice which even now dispatched them hence 
on some military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. 
If so, how will this end, or how can I protect Eowena and 
my father?” 

“He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Eebecca, inter- 
nally; “yet what is our portion in him, and how justly am 
I punished by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon 
him!” She hasten’ed after this brief self-accusation to give 
Ivanhoe what information she could; but it amounted only 
to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron 
Front-de-Boeuf, were commanders within the castle ; that 
it was beleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not. 
She added, that there was a Christian priest within the castle 
who might be possessed of more information. 

“A Christian priest!” said the knight, joyfully; “fetch 
him hither. Eebecca, if thou canst — say a sick man desires 
his ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, but bring him — 
something I must do or attempt, but how can I determine 
until I know how matters stand without?” 

Eebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made 
that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded Knight’s 
chamber, which was defeated as we have already seen by 
the interference of IJrfried,’^ who had been also on the watch 
to intercept the supposed monk. Eebecca retired to com- 
municate to Ivanhoe the result of her errand. 

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this 


1 See p. 252. 


IVANHOE. 


source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it might 
be supplied; for the noise within the castle, occasioned by 
the defensive preparations which had been considerable for 
some time, now increased into tenfold bustle and clamour. 
The heavy, yet hasty step of the men-at-arms, traversed the 
battlements, or resounded on the narrow and winding 
passages and stairs which led to the various bartizans and 
points of defence. The voices of the knights were heard, 
animating their followers, or directing means of defence, 
while their commands were often drowned in the clashing 
of armour, or the clamorous shouts of those whom they 
addressed. Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet more 
terrible from the awful event which they presaged, there was 
a sublimity mixed with them, which Eebecca’s high-toned 
mind could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye 
kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks; and there 
was a strong mixture of fear, and of a thrilling sense of the 
sublime, as she repeated, half whispering to herself, half 
speaking to her companion, the sacred text, — “The quivei 
rattleth — the glittering spear and the shield — the noise of 
the captains and the shouting!” 

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime pas- 
sage,^ glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and wit 
his ardent desire to mingle in the affray of which these 
sounds were the introduction. “If I could but drag myself,' 
he said, “to yonder window, that I might see how this brave 
game is like to go — If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle- 
axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliverance 1 — 
It is in vain — it is in vain — I am alike nerveless and weapon- 
less !” 

“Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Eebecca, “the 
sounds have ceased of a sudden — it mav be thev ioin not 
battle.” 

“Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred, impatiently; 
“this dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts 
on the walls, and expecting an instant attack ; what we have 
heard was but the instant muttering of the storm — it will 
burst anon in all its fury. — Could I but reach yonder win- 
dow!” 


Job xxxix : 19-25. 


IVANHOE. 


2^89 


‘^Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble 
knight/^ replied his attendant. Observing his extreme 
solicitude, she firmly added, “I myself will stand at the 
lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes without.^^ 

‘‘You must not — you shall not!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; 
“each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the 
archers; some random shaft — ” 

, “It shall be welcome I” murmured Eebecca, as with firm 
pace she ascended two or three steps, which led to the window 
of which they spoke. 

“Eebecca, dear Eebecca 1” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “this is no 
maiden^s pastime — do not expose thyself to wounds and 
death, and render me forever miserable for having given 
the occasion ; at least, cover thyself with yonder ancient 
buckler, and show as little of your person at the lattice as 
may be.” 

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of 
Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the large 
ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of 
the window, Eebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could 
V ’tness part of what was passing without the castle, and 
jport to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were 
aaking for the storm. Indeed, the situation which she 
hus obtained was peculiarly favourable for this purpose. 
Decause, being placed on an angle of the main building, 
Eebecca could not only see what passed beyond the precincts 
of the castle, but also commanded a view of the outwork 
likely to be the first object of the meditated assault. It was 
an exterior fortification of no great height or strength, 
intended to protect the postern-gate, through which Cedric 
had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle 
moat divided this species of barbican from the rest of the 
fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to 
cut off the communication with the main building, by with- 
drawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a 
sallyport corresponding to the postern of the castle, and 
the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. Eebecca 
could observe, from the number of men placed for the de- 
fence of this post, that the besieged entertained apprehen- 


290 


IVANHOE. 


sions for its safety; and from the mustering of the assailants 
in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed no 
less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable point 
of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, 
and added, ^‘^The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, 
although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow.” 

^^Under what banner?” asked Ivanhoe. 

‘^Under no ensign of war which I can observe,” answered 
Kebecca. 

singular novelty,” muttered the knight, advance 
to storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed! 
— Seest thou who they be that act as leaders?” 

knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspicuous,” 
said the Jewess; ‘die alone is armed from head to heel, and 
seems to assume the direction of all around him.” 

“What device does he bear on his shield?” replied Ivanhoe. 

“Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock 
painted blue on the black shield.” 

“A fetterlock and shackelbolt azure,”^ said Ivanhoe; “I 
know not who may bear the device, but well I ween^ it might 
now be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto?” 

“Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied Eebecca; 
“but when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as 
I tell you.” 

“Seem there no other leaders?” exclaimed the anxious 
enquirer. 

“None of mark and distinction that I can behold from 
this station,” said Eebecca; “but, doubtless, the other side 
of the castle is also assailed. They appear even now pre- 
paring to advance — God of Zion, protect us! — What a 
dreadful sight! — Those who advance first bear huge shields 
and defences made of plank; the others follow, bending 
their bows as they come on. — They raise their bows! — God 
of Moses, forgive the creatures thou hast made!” 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the 
signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill 

1 The device on the shield represented turned out in pasture to prevent it 
in sky-blue a hopple or shackle such as running away. * fancy, wish, 

was attached to the leg of a horse when 


IVANHOE. 


2^91 


bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the Norman 
trumpets from the battlements, which, mingled with the 
deep and hollow clang of the nakers, (a species of kettle- 
drum,) retorted in notes of deflance the challenge of the 
enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful 
din, the assailants crying, ^^Saint George for merry Eng- 
land!” and the Normans answering them with loud cries of 
''En avant de Bracy! — Beau-seant — Beau-seant ! — Front-de- 
Boeuf d la rescousse!” according to the war-cries of their 
different commanders. 

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was to 
be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were 
met by equally vigorous defence on the part of the besieged. 
The archers, trained by their woodland pastimes to the most 
effective use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate 
phrase of the time, so ‘Wholly together,” that no point at 
which a defender could show the least part of his person, 
escaped their cloth-yard shafts.^ By this heavy discharge, 
which continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwith- 
standing, every arrow had its individual aim, and flew by 
scores together against each embrasure and opening in the 
parapets, as well as at every window where a defender either 
occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be stationed,. 
— by this sustained discharge, two or three of the garrison 
were slain, and several others wounded. But, confident in 
their armour of proof, and in the cover which their situa- 
tion afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf and his allies, 
showed an obstinacy in defence proportioned to the fury of 
the attack, and replied with the discharge of their large 
cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and other 
missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of 
arrows; and, as the assailants were necessarily but indiffer- 
ently protected, did considerably more damage than they 
received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts and of 
missiles, on both sides, was only interrupted by the shouts 
which arose when either side inflicted or sustained some nota- 
ble loss. 

^‘And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” exclaimed 

* See p. 124, note, for meaning and is a part of the battle-cry. 
pronunciation of beauseant. Here it ^ yard-long arrows. 


292 


IVANHOE. 


Ivanhoe, ^Vhile the game that gives me freedom or death 
is played out by the hand of others ! — Look from the window 
once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked 
by the archers beneath — look out once more, and tell me if 
they yet advance to the storm/^ 

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which 
she had employed in mental devotion, Eebecca again took 
post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to 
be visible from beneath. 

''What dost thou see, Rebecca?^’ again demanded the 
wounded knight. 

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to 
dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.^’ 

"That cannot endure,’’ said Ivanhoe; "if they press not 
right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the arch- 
ery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. 
Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and 
see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his 
followers be.” 

"I see him not,” said Rebecca. 

"Foul craven !” exclaimed Ivanhoe ; "does he blench from 
the helm when the wind blows highest?” 

"He blenches not! he blenches not!” said Rebecca, "I see 
him now; he heads a body of men close under the outer 
barrier of the barbican. — They pull down the piles and 
palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. — His high 
black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over 
the field of the slain. — They have made a breach in the 
barriers — they rush in — they are thrust back! — Front-de- 
Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the 
press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is 
disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God of Jacob! 
it is the meeting of two fierce tides — the conflict of two 
oceans moved by adverse winds.” 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer 
to endure a sight so terrible. 

"Look forth again, Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mistaking 
the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree 
have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. — 
Look again, there is now less danger.” 


IVANHOE. 


^93 


Eebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately ex- 
claimed, ^^Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boenf and 
the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid 
the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the 
strife — Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and 
of the captive 1’^ She then uttered a loud shriek, and ex- 
claimed, ^^He is down ! — he is down 

^^Who is down?’^ cried Ivanhoe; ^^for our dear Lady^s 
sake, tell me which has fallen?” 

“The Black Knight,” answered Eebecca, faintly ; then 
instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness — “But no — 
but no ! — the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed 1 — he is 
on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men^s 
strength in his single arm. — His sword is broken — he 
snatches an axe from a yeoman — ^he presses Front-de-Boeuf 
with blow on blow. — The giant stoops and totters like an oak 
under the steel of the woodman — he falls — he falls !” 

“Front-de-Boeuf?” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“Front-de-Boeuf 1” answered the Jewess ; “his men rush 
to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar — their united 
force compels the champion to pause — they drag Front-de- 
Boeuf within the walls.” 

“The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?” 
said Ivanhoe. 

“They have — they have!” exclaimed Eebecca — “and they 
press the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some plant 
ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavour to ascend 
upon the shoulders of each other — down go stones, beams, 
and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they 
bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places 
in the assault. — Great God! hast thou given men thine own 
image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands 
of their brethren!” 

“Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “this is no time for 
such thoughts. — Who yield? — who push their way?” 

“The ladders are thrown down,” replied Eebecca, shudder- 
ing; “the soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed 
reptiles. — The besieged have the better.” 

“Saint George strike for us!” exclaimed the knight; “do 
the false yeomen give way?” 


394 


IVANHOE. 


!” exclaimed Eebecca, ^^they bear themselves right 
yeomanly — the Black Kmight approaches the postern with 
his huge axe — the thundering blows which he deals, you may 
hear them above all the din and shouts of the battle. — Stones 
and beams are hailed down on the bold champion — he 
regards them no. more than if they were thistle-down or 
feathers 

^^By Saint John of Acre/’^ said Ivanhoe, raising himself 
joyfully on his couch, ^^methought there was but one man in 
England that might do such a deed!’’ 

^‘The postern-gate shakes,” continued Eebecca ; ^^it 
^y?.rashes — it is splintered by his blows — they rush it — the 
outw^ork is won — Oh, God ! — they hurl the defenders from 
the battleiiT-ejats — they throw them into the moat — 0 men, 
if ye be indeed hr«9Ji^ spare them- that can resist no longer I” 

‘^The bridge — the ^^48*6 which communicates with the 
castle — have they won that-., pass?” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

^^No,” replied Eebecca, Templar has destroyed the 

plank on which they crossed— few of the defenders escaped 
with him into the castle — the shrieks and cries which you 
hear tell the fate of the others — Ala.s ! — I see it is still more 
difficult to look upon victory than up'on battle.” 

^‘What do they now, maiden?” said Tvanhoe; ^dook forth 
yet again — this is no time to faint at bloodshed.” 

‘Tt is over for the time,” answered Eebecca; ^^our friends 
strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have 
mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter from the foe- 
men’s shot, that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on it 
from interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than 
effectually to injure them.” 

^^Our friends,” said Wilfred, ^Vill surely not abandon an 
enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained. — 0 
no 1 J will put my faith in the good knight whose axe hath 
rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron. — Singular,” he again 
muttered to himself, ^^if there be two who can do a deed of 
such derring-do!^ — a fetterlock, and a shacklebolt on a field- 
sable — what may that mean ? — seest thou nought else, 
Eebecca, by which the Black Knight may be distinguished?” 

1 so called because Acre was taken and of Saint John of Jerusalem. See note 
occupied, in the Crusades, by the Knights p. 46. 2 desperate courage. 


IVANHOE. 


2:95 


'^Nothing/’ said the Jewess; ^^all about him is black as 
the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can 
mark him further — but having once seen him put forth his 
strength in battle, methinks I could know him again among 
a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were 
summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength^ 
there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion 
were given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. 
God assoilzie^ him of the sin of bloodshed! — it is fearful,, 
yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one 
man can triumph over hundreds.” 

^‘Kebecca,” said Ivanhoe, ‘Thou hast painted a hero ; 
surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the 
means of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as thou 
hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no 
cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant emprize;^ since 
the difficulties which render it arduous render it also glori- 
ous. I swear by the honour of my house — I vow by the 
name of my bright lady-love, I would endure ten years^ 
captivity to fight one day by that good knight^s side in such 
a quarrel as this !” 

“Alas,” said Eebecca, leaving her station at the window, 
and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, “this 
impatient yearning after action — this struggling with and 
repining at your present weakness, will not fail to injure 
your returning health. How couldst thou hope to inflict 
wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou thyself 
hast received ?” 

“Eebecca,” he replied, “thou knowest not how impossible 
it is for one trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive 
as a priest, or a woman, when they are acting deeds of 
honour around him. The love of battle is the food upon 
which we live — the dust of the melee^ is the breath of our 
nostrils ! We live not — we wish not to live — longer than 
while we are victorious and renowned. Such, maiden, are 
the laws of chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which 
we offer all that we hold dear.” 

“Alas!” said the fair Jewess, “and what is it, valiant 


1 absolve, pardon. 


2 enterprise, endeavor. ® hand-to-hand fight. 


296 


IVANHOE. 


knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, 
and a passing through the fire to Moloch!^ — What remains 
to you as the prize of all the blood you have spilled — of all 
the travail and pain you have endured — of all the tears 
which your deeds have caused, when death hath broken the 
strong man’s spear, and overtaken the speed of his war- 
horse ?” 

^^What remains?” cried Ivanhoe. ^^Glory, maiden, glory! 
which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our name.” 

^^Glory?” continued Eebecca; ^^alas, is the rusted mail 
which hangs as a hatchment ^ over the champion’s dim and 
mouldering tomb — is the defaced sculpture of the inscrip- 
tion which the ignorant monk can hardly read to the enquir- 
ing pilgrim — are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of 
every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may 
make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude 
rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly 
affection, peace and happiness, are so wildly bartered, to 
become the hero of those ballads which vagabond minstrels 
sing to drunken churls over their evening ale?” 

^^By the soul of Hereward !”^ replied the knight impa- 
tiently, ^^thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. 
Thou wouldst quench the pure light of chivalry, which alone 
distinguishes the noble from the base, the gentle knight 
from the churl and the savage; which rates our life far, 
far beneath the pitch of our honour ; raises us victorious over 
pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but 
disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Eebecca; and to thee are 
unknown those high feelings which swell the bosom of a 
noble maiden when her lover hath done some deed of em- 
prize which sanctions his flame. Chivalry! — why, maiden, 
she is the nurse of pure and high affection — the stay of the 
oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power 
of the tyrant. Nobility were but an empty name without 
her, and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and 
her sword.” 

am, indeed,” said Eebecca, ^^sprung from a race whose 

/ fire-god worshiped by the Ammonites person, a tablet, usually lozenge-shaped 
with human sacrifices, especially of or square; placed over a tomb, 
children. II. Kings xxiii : 10. ® a renowned champion of the Hep- 

2 Armorial bearings of a deceased tarchy. 


IVANHOE. 


297 


courage was distinguished in the defence of their own land, 
but who warred not, even while yet a nation, save at the 
command of the Deity, or in defending their country from 
oppression. The sound of the trumpet wakes Judah no 
longer, and her despised children are now but the unresist- 
ing victims of hostile and military oppression. Well hast 
thou spoken. Sir Knight, — until the God of Jacob shall 
raise up for his chosen people a second Gideon,^ or a new 
Maccabeus,^ it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel to speak of 
battle or of war.^’ 

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a 
tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of the 
degradation of her people, embittered perhaps by the idea 
that Ivanhoe considered her as one not entitled to interfere 
in a case of honour, and incapable of entertaining or express- 
ing sentiments of honour and generosity. 

‘^How little he knows this bosom,” she said, ^To imagine 
that cowardice or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, 
because I have censured the fantastic chivalry of the Kaza- 
renes ! Would to heaven that the shedding of mine own 
blood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah! 
Kay, would to God it could avail to set free my father, and 
this his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor! The 
proud Christian should then see whether the daughter of 
God’s chosen people dared not to die as bravely as the vainest 
Kazarene maiden, that boasts her descent from some petty 
chieftain of the rude and frozen north !” 

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded knight. 

^^He sleeps,” she said; ^‘^nature exhausted by suiferance 
and the waste of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the 
first moment of temporary relaxation to sink into slumber. 
Alas ! is it a crime that I should look upon him, when it may 
be for the last time? — When yet but a short space, and those 
fair features will be no longer animated by the bold and 
buoyant spirit which forsakes them not even in sleep ! — 
When the nostril shall be distended, the mouth agape, the 
eyes fixed and bloodshot; and when the proud and noble 

‘greatest recorded Judge of Israel. Jerusalem which had been taken by the 
Judges vi-viii. Syrian ruler, Antiochus Epiphanes. He 

* Judas Maccabeus, a celebrated Jew- fell in battle, 160 b.c. 
ish leader. He recovered the temple at 


298 


IVANHOE. 


knight may be trodden on by the lowest caitiff of this 
accursed castle, yet stir not when the heel is lifted up against 
him ! — And my father ! — oh, my father ! evil is it with his 
daughter, when his grey hairs are not remembered because 
of the golden locks of youth ! — What know I but that these 
evils are the messengers of Jehovah^s wrath to the unnatural 
child, who thinks of a stranger’s captivity before a parent’s? 
who forgets the desolation of Judah, and looks upon the 
comeliness of a Gentile and a stranger? — But I will tear 
this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend 
it away !” 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at 
a distance from the couch of the wounded knight, with her 
back turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavouring to for- 
tify her mind, not only against the impending evils from 
without, but also against those treacherous feelings which 
assailed her from within. 


CHAPTEE XXX 

AT TORQUILSTONE. ITS DEFENCE. FRONT-DE-BCEUF AND 
ULRICA. IN FLAMES. THE PONDEROUS KEY. 

During the interval of quiet which followed the first 
success of the besiegers, while the one party was preparing 
to pursue their advantage, and the other to strengthen their 
means of defence, the Templar and De Bracy held brief 
counsel together in the hall of the castle. 

^^Where is Front-de-Boeuf ?” said the latter, who had super- 
intended the defence of the fortress on the other side; ^‘men 
say he hath been slain.” 

^^He lives,” said the Templar, coolly, ^fiives as yet; but had 
he worn the bull’s head of which he bears the name, and ten 
plates of iron to fence it withal, he must have gone down 
before yonder fatal axe. Yet a few hours, and Front-de- 
Boeuf is with his fathers — a powerful limb lopped off Prince 
John’s enterprise.” 

^^And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,” said De 
Bracy; ‘This comes of reviling saints and angels, and order- 


IVANHOE. 


2^99 


ing images of holy things and holy men to be flung down 
on the heads of these rascaille yeomen/^ 

^‘Go to — thou art a fool,” said the Templar; 'Thy super- 
stition is upon a Jevel with Front-de-Boeuf’s want of faith; 
neither of you can render a reason for your belief or un- 
belief.” 

'‘Benedicite, Sir Templar,” replied De Bracy, "I pray you 
to keep better rule with your tongue when I am the theme 
of it. By the Mother of Heaven, I am a better Christian 
man than thou and thy fellowship; for the hruiP- goeth 
shrewdly out, that the most holy Order of the Temple of 
Zion nurseth not a few heretics within its bosom, and that 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is of the number.” 

"Care not thou for such reports,” said the Templar; "but 
let us think of making good the castle. — How fought these 
villain yeomen on thy side?” 

"Like fiends incarnate,” said De Bracy. "They swarmed 
close up to the walls, headed, as I think, by the knave who 
won the prize at the archery, for I knew his horn and 
baldric. And this is old Fitzurse’s boasted policy, encourag- 
ing these malapert^ knaves to rebel against us! Had I not 
been armed in proof, the villain had marked me down seven 
times with as little remorse as if I had been a buck in season. 
He told every rivet on my armour with a cloth-yard shaft, 
that rapped against my ribs with as little compunction as 
if my bones had been of iron. But that I wore a shirt of 
Spanish mail under my plate-coat, I had been fairly sped.” 

"But you maintained your post?” said the Templar. "We 
lost the outwork on our part.” 

"That is a shrewd^ loss,” said De Bracy; "the knaves will 
find cover there to assault the castle more closely, and may, 
if not well watched, gain some unguarded corner of a tower, 
or some forgotten window, and so break in upon us. Our 
numbers are too few for the defence of every point, and 
the men complain that they can nowhere show themselves, 
but they are the mark for as many arrows as a parish-butt^ 
on a holyday even. Front-de-Boeuf is dying too, so we shall 
receive no more aid from his bulks head and brutal strength. 

1 report, rumor. * impudent. ^ keen, severe. 

* target put up in a churchyard for archery practice. 


300 


IVANHOE. 


How think you, Sir Brian, were we not better make a virtue 
of necessity, and compound with the rogues by delivering 
up our prisoners 

^‘How?’^ exclaimed the Templar; ^^deliver up our prison- 
ers, and stand an object alike of ridicule and execration, as 
the doughty warriors who dared by a night-attack to possess 
themselves of the persons of a party of defenceless travellers, 
yet could not make good a strong castle against a vagabond 
troop of outlaws, led by swineherds, jesters, and the very 
refuse of mankind? — Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de 
Bracy ! — The ruins of this castle shall bury both my body 
and my shame, ere I consent to such base and dishonourable 
composition/^^ 

^^Let us to the walls, then,’’ said De Bracy, carelessly; 
^That man never breathed, be he Turk or Templar, who 
held life at lighter rate than I do. But I trust there is 
no dishonour in wishing I had here some two scores of my 
gallant troop of Free Companions? — Oh, my brave lances! 
if ye knew but how hard your captain were this day bested, 
how soon should I see my banner at the head of your clump 
of spears ! And how short while would these rabble villains 
stand to endure your encounter !” 

‘‘Wish for whom thou wilt,” said the Templar, “but let 
us make what defence we can with the soldiers who remain. 
They are chiefly Front-de-Boeuf’s followers, hated by the 
English for a thousand acts of insolence and oppression.” 

“The better,” said De Bracy ; “the rugged slaves will 
defend themselves to the last drop of their blood, ere they 
encounter the revenge of the peasants without. Let us up 
and be doing, then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; and, live or 
die, thou shalt see Maurice De Bracy bear himself this day 
as a gentleman of blood and lineage.” 

“To the walls!” answered the Templar; and they both 
ascended the battlements to do all that skill could dictate, 
and manhood accomplish, in defence of the place. They 
readily agreed that the point of greatest danger was that 
opposite to the outwork of which the assailants had possessed 
themselves. The castle, indeed, was divided from the bar- 


compromise, conditions. 


IVANHOE. 


301 


bican by the moat, and it was impossible that the besiegers 
could assail the postern-door, with which the outwork 
corresponded, without surmounting that obstacle; but it 
was the opinion both of the Templar and De Bracy, that 
the besiegers, if governed by the same policy their leader 
had already displayed, would endeavour, by a formidable 
assault, to draw the chief part of the defenders’ obser- 
vation to this point, and take measures to avail themselves 
of every negligence which might take place in the defence 
elsewhere. To guard against such an evil, their numbers 
only permitted the knights to place sentinels from space to 
space along the walls in communication with each other, 
who might give the alarm whenever danger was threatened. 
Meanwhile, they agreed that De Bracy should command the 
defence at the postern, and the Templar should keep with 
him a score of men or thereabouts as a body of reserve, 
ready to hasten to any other point which might be suddenly 
threatened. The loss of the barbican had also this unfortu- 
nate effect, that, notwithstanding the superior height of the 
castle walls, the besieged could not see from them, with the 
same precision as before, the operations of the enemy^; for 
some straggling underwood approached so near the sallyport 
of the outwork, that the assailants might introduce into it 
whatever force they thought proper, not only under cover, 
but even without the knowledge of the defenders. Utterly 
uncertain, therefore, upon what point the storm was to 
burst, De Bracy and his companion were under the necessity 
of providing against every possible contingency, and their 
followers, however brave, experienced the anxious dejection 
of mind incident to men enclosed by enemies, who possessed 
the power of choosing their time and mode of attack. 

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered 
castle lay upon a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. He 
had not the usual resource of bigots in that superstitious 
period, most of whom were wont to atone for the crimes 
they were guilty of by liberality to the church, stupefying 
by this means their terrors by the idea of atonement and 
forgiveness; and although the refuge which success thus 
purchased, was no more like to the peace of mind which 


302 


IVANHOE. 


follows on sincere repentance, than the turbid stupefaction 
procured by opium resembles healthy and natural slumbers, 
it was still a state of mind preferable to the agonies of 
awakened remorse. But among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, 
a hard and griping man, avarice was predominant; and 
he preferred setting church and churchmen at defiance, to 
purchasing from them pardon and absolution at the price 
of treasure and of manors. Nor did the Templar, an infi- 
del of another stamp, justly characterise his associate, when 
he said Front-de-Bceuf could assign no cause for his un- 
belief and contempt for the established faith ; for the 
Baron would have alleged that the Church sold her wares 
too dear, that the spiritual freedom which she put up to 
sale was only to be bought like that of the chief captain^ of 
Jerusalem, ^Vith a great sum,” and Front-de-Boeuf pre- 
ferred denying the virtue of the medicine, to paying the 
expense of the physician. 

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his 
treasures were gliding from before his eyes, and when the 
savage Baron’s heart, though, hard as a nether millstone, 
became appalled as he gazed forward into the waste dark- 
ness of futurity. The fever of his body aided the im- 
patience and agony of his mind, and his death-bed exhibited 
a mixture of the newly awakened feelings of horror, com- 
bating with the fixed and inveterate obstinacy of his dis- 
position; — a fearful state of mind, only to be equalled in 
those tremendous regions, where there are complaints with- 
out hope, remorse without repentance, a dreadful sense of 
present agony, and a presentiment that it cannot cease or 
be diminished ! 

^‘Where be these dog-priests now,” growled the Baron, 
^Vho set such price on their ghostly mummery? — where 
be all those unshod Carmelites, for whom old Front-de- 
Boeuf founded the convent of St. Anne, robbing his heir 
of many a fair rood of meadow, and many a fat field and 
close^ — where be the greedy hounds now? — Swilling, I war- 
rant me, at the ale, or playing their juggling tricks at the 
bedside of some miserly churl. — Me, the heir of their 


^ Acts xxii : 27-29. 


2 enclosed land. 


IVANHOE. 


303 


founder — me, whom their foundation binds them to pray 
for — me — ungrateful villains as they are! — they suffer to 
die like the houseless dog on yonder common, unshriven and 
unhouseled — Tell the Templar to come hither — he is a 
priest, and may do something. But no! — as well confess 
myself to the devil as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who recks 
neither of heaven nor of hell. — I have heard old men talk 
of prayer — prayer by their own voice — such need not to 
court or to bribe the false priest. But I — I dare not !” 

^^Lives Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,’’ said a broken and shrill 
voice close by his bedside, ‘To say there is that which he 
dares not !’^ 

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de- 
Boeuf heard, in this strange interruption to his soliloquy, 
the voice of one of those demons, who, as the superstition 
of the times believed, beset the beds of dying men, to dis- 
tract their thoughts, and turn them from the meditations 
which concerned their eternal welfare. He shuddered and 
drew himself together; but, instantly summoning up his 
wonted resolution, he exclaimed, “Who is there? — what art 
thou, that darest to echo my words in a tone like that of the 
night-raven? — Come before m couch that I may see thee.’’ 

“I am thine evil angel, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,” replied 
the voice. 

“Let me behold thee, then, in thy bodily shape, if thou 
be’st indeed a fiend,” replied the dying knight; “think not 
that I will blench from thee. — By the eternal dungeon, could I 
but grapple with these horrors that hover round me, as I 
have done with mortal dangers, heaven or hell should never 
say that I shrunk from the conflict !” 

“Think on thy sins, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said the 
almost unearthly voice, “on rebellion, on rapine, on murder! 
— Who stirred up the licentious John to war against his 
grey-headed father — against his generous brother?” 

“Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, 
“thou liest in thy throat! — Not I stirred John to rebellion 
— not I alone — there were fifty knights and barons, the 
flower of the midland counties — better men never laid lance 


1 without receiving absolution on confession and partaking of the sacrament. 


304 


IVANHOE. 


in rest. — And must I answer for the fault done by fifty? — 
False fiend, I defy thee! Depart, and haunt my couch no 
more — let me die in peace if thou be mortal — if thou be a 
demon, thy time is not yet come.’^ 

‘^In peace thou shalt not die,” repeated the voice; ^^even 
in death shalt thou think on thy murders — on the groans 
which this castle has echoed — on the blood that is engrained 
in its fioors!” 

‘^Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” answered 
Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained laugh. ^^The 
infidel Jew — it was merit with heaven to deal with him as I 
did, else wherefore are men canonised who dip their hands 
in the blood of Saracens? — The Saxon porkers, whom I 
have slain, they were the foes of my country, and of my 
lineage, and of my liege lord. — Ho! ho! thou seest there 
is no crevice in my coat of plate. — Art thou fled? — art 
thou silenced?” 

^‘Ho, foul parricide!” replied the voice; ^Think of thy 
father ! — think of his death ! — think of his banquet-room 
flooded with his gore, and that poured forth by the hand 
of a son!” 

‘^Ha!” answered the Baron, after a long pause, ‘^an thou 
knowest that, thou art indeed the author of evil, and as 
omniscient as the monks call thee! — That secret I deemed 
locked in my own breast, and in that of one beside — the 
temptress, the partaker of my guilt. — Go, leave me, fiend! 
and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who alone could tell thee 
what she and I alone witnessed. — Go, I say, to her, who 
washed the wounds, and straighted the corpse, and gave 
to the slain man the outward show of one parted in time and 
in the course of nature — Go to her; she was my temptress, 
the foul provoker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed — let 
her, as well as I, taste of the tortures which anticipate hell !” 

''She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping before 
the couch of Front-de-Boeuf; "she hath long drunken of 
this cup, and its bitterness is now sweetened to see that 
thou dost partake it. — Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Boeuf 
— ^roll not thine eyes — clench not thy hand^ nor shake it at 
me with that gesture of menace! — The hand which, like 


IVANHOE. 


305 


that of thy renowned ancestor who gained thy name, could 
have broken with one stroke the skull of a mountain bull, 
is now unnerved and powerless as mine own!’^ 

‘^Vile murderous hag!^^ replied Front-de-Boeuf ; ^^detest- 
able screech-owl ! it is then thou who art come to exult over 
the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low?’^ 

‘^Ay, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf/’ answered she, ^‘it is 
Ulrica ! — it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolf- 
ganger ! — it is the sister of his slaughtered sons — it is she 
who demands of thee, and of thy father’s house, father and 
kindred, name and fame— all that she has lost by the name 
of Front-de-Boeuf ! — Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, 
and answer me I speak not truth. Thou hast been my evil 
angel, and I will be thine — I will dog thee till the very 
instant of dissolution !” 

‘'‘^Detestable fury!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, ^That mo- 
ment shalt thou never witness. — Ho! Giles, Clement, and 
Eustace ! St. Maur, and Stephen ! seize this damned witch, 
and hurl her from the battlements headlong — she has be- 
trayed us to the Saxon!' — Ho! Saint Maur! Clement! false- 
hearted knaves, where tarry ye?” 

^Uall on them again, valiant Baron,” said the hag, with 
a smile of grisly mockery; ‘^summon thy vassals around 
thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge and the dungeon 
— but know, mighty chief,” she continued, suddenly chang- 
ing her tone, ‘Thou shalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor 
obedience at their hands. — Listen to these horrid sounds,” 
for the din of the recommenced assault and defence now 
rung fearfully loud from the battlements of the castle; “in 
that war-cry is the downfall of thy house — the blood- 
cemented fabric of Front-de-Boeuf’s power totters to the 
foundation, and before the foes he most despised! — The 
Saxon, Eeginald ! — the scorned Saxon assails thy walls ! — 
Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon 
storms thy place of strength?” 

“Gods and fiends!” exclaimed the wounded knight; “0, 
for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the melee, 
and perish as becomes my name !” 

“Think not of it, valiant warrior!” replied she; “thou 


306 


IVANHOE. 


shalt die no soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in his 
den, when the peasants have set fire to the cover around it.” 

‘^Hateful hag ! thou liest !” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf ; 
followers bear them bravely — my walls are strong and 
high, — my comrades in arms fear not a whole host of Sax- 
ons, were they headed by Hengist and Horsa!^ — the war- 
cry of the Templar and of the Free Companions rises high 
over the conflict ! And by mine honour, when we kindle the 
blazing beacon, for joy of our defence, it shall consume thee, 
body and bones; and I shall live to hear thou art gone from 
earthly fires to those of that hell, which never sent forth an 
incarnate fiend so utterly diabolical !” 

^^Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, ^Till the proof reach 
thee. — But no !” she said, interrupting herself, ^Thou shalt 
know, even now, the doom which all thy power, strength, and 
courage is unable to avoid, though it is prepared for thee 
by this feeble hand. Markest thou the smouldering and 
suffocating vapour which already eddies in sable folds 
through the chamber? — Didst thou think it was but the 
darkening of thy bursting eyes — the difficulty of thy cum- 
bered breathing? No! Front-de-Boeuf, there is another 
cause. — Eememberest thou the magazine of fuel that is 
stored beneath these apartments?” 

Woman !” he exclaimed with fury, ^Thou hast not set fire 
to it? — By heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in flames!” 

‘^They are fast rising, at least,” said Ulrica, with frightful 
composure; ‘^and a signal shall soon wave to warn the 
besiegers to press hard upon those who would extinguish 
them. — Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf ! — May Mista, Skogula, and 
Zernebock, gods of the ancient Saxons — fiends, as the priests 
now call them — supply the place of comforters at your 
dying bed, which Ulrica now relinquishes ! — But know, if it 
will give thee comfort to know it, that Ulrica is bound to 
the same dark coast with thyself, the companion of thy 
punishment as the companion of thy guilt. — And now, 
parricide, farewell forever ! — May each stone of this vaulted 
roof find a tongue to echo that title into thine ear !” 

* The Saxons under Hengist, a Jute the northern tribes near Stamford in 
prince, and his brother Horsa, defeated 450 a.d. 


IVANHOE. 


307 


So saying, she left the apartment; and Tront-de-Boeuf 
could hear the crash of the ponderous key, as she locked 
and double-locked the door behind her, thus cutting olf the 
most slender chance of escape. In the extremity of agony 
he shouted upon his servants and allies — ‘‘Stephen and St. 
Maur ! — Clement and Giles ! — I burn here unaided ! — To 
the rescue — to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De 
Bracy! — It is Front-de-Boeuf who calls! — It is your master, 
ye traitor squires! — Your ally — your brother in arms, ye 
perjured and faithless knights ! — all the curses due to 
traitors upon your recreant heads, do you abandon me to 
perish thus miserably ! — They hear me not — they cannot 
hear me — my voice is lost in the din of battle. — The smoke 
rolls thicker and thicker — the fire has caught upon the 
floor below — 0, for one draught of the air of heaven, were 
it to be purchased by instant annihilation!” And in the 
mad frenzy of despair, the wretch now shouted with the 
shouts of the fighters, now muttered curses on himself, on 
mankind, and on Heaven itself. — “The red fire flashes 
through the thick smoke !” he exclaimed ; “the demon 
marches against me under the banner of his own element. 
— Foul spirit, avoid! — I go not with thee without my com- 
rades — all, all are thine, that garrison, these walls. — Think- 
est thou Front-de-Boeuf will be singled out to go alone? — 
No — the infidel Templar — the licentious De Bracy — Ulrica, 
the foul murdering strumpet — the men who aided my enter- 
prises — the dog Saxons and accursed Jews, who are my 
prisoners — all, all shall attend me — a goodly fellowship as 
ever took the downward road. — Ha, ha, ha!” and he laughed 
in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. “Who laughed 
there?” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in altered mood, for 
the noise of the conflict did not prevent the echoes of his 
own mad laughter from returning upon his ear — “who 
laughed there — Ulrica, was it thou? — Speak, witch, and 
I forgive thee — for, only thou or the fiend of hell himself 
could have laughed at such a moment. Avaunt — avaunt ! — ” 
But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of a 
blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed. 


308 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEE XXXI 

AT TORQUILSTONE. LEADERS OF THE SIEGE. THE RED FLAG SEEN. 
THE DEFENDERS. THE BLACK KNIGHT. “WILFRED OF IVANHOE.” 
THE CASTLE BURNS. THE TEMPLAR AND REBECCA. CEDRIC AND 
ROWENA. ATHELSTANE FALLS. ULRICA. 

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s mes- 
sage, omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black 
Emight and Locksley. They were well pleased to find they 
had a friend within the place, who might, in, the moment 
of need, be able to facilitate their entrance, and readily 
agreed with the Saxon that a storm, under whatever disad- 
vantages, ought to be attempted, as the only means of 
liberating the prisoners now in the hands of the cruel 
Pront-de-Boeuf. 

“The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said Cedric. 

“The honour of a noble lady in peril,” said the Black 
Knight. 

“And, by the St. Christopher at my baldric,” said the 
good yeoman, “were there no other cause than the safety 
of that poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a 
joint ere a hair of his head were hurt.” 

“And so would I,” said the Friar; “what, sirs! I trust 
well that a fool — I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool that is 
free of his guild and master of his craft, and can give as 
much relish and flavour to a cup of wine as ever a flitch of 
bacon can — I say, brethren, such a fool shall never want 
a wise clerk to pray for or fight for him at a strait, while 
I can say a mass or flourish a partisan.” 

And with that he made his heavy halberd to play around 
his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook. 

“True, Holy Clerk,” said the Black Knight, “true as if 
St. Dunstan himself had said it. — And now, good Locksley, 
were it not well that noble Cedric should assume the direc- 
tion of this assault?” 

“Not a jot I,” returned Cedric ; “I have never been wont 
to study either how to take or how to hold out those abodes of 


IVANHOE. 


309 


tyrannic power, which the Normans have erected in this 
groaning land. I will fight among the foremost; but my 
honest neighbours well know I am not a trained soldier in 
the discipline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.” 

“Since it stands thus with the noble Cedric,” said Locksley, 
“I am most willing to take on me the direction of the 
archery; and ye shall hang me up on my own trysting-tree, 
an the defenders be permitted to show themselves over the 
walls without being stuck with as many shafts as there are 
cloves in a gammon of bacon at Christmas.” 

“Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black Knight; 
“and if I be thought worthy to have a charge in these 
matters, and can find among these brave men so many as 
are willing to follow a true English knight, for so I may 
surely call myself, I am ready, with such skill as my ex- 
perience has taught me, to lead them to the attack of these 
walls.” 

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they 
commenced the first assault, of which the reader has already 
heard the issue. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent 
notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at 
the same time, to keep such a strict observation on the 
castle as might prevent the defenders from combining their 
force for a sudden sally, and recovering the outwork which 
they had lost. This the knight was chiefly desirous of 
avoiding, conscious that the men whom he led, being hasty 
and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and unaccus- 
tomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden attack, fight 
at great disadvantage with the veteran soldiers of the Nor- 
man knights, who were well provided with arms both 
defensive and offensive; and who, to match the zeal and 
high spirit of the besiegers, had all the confidence which arises 
from perfect discipline and the habitual use of weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be con- 
structed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means 
of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the re- 
sistance of the enemy. This was a work of some time, 
which the leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure 


310 


IVANHOE. 


to execute her plan of diversion in their favour, whatever 
that might be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight ad- 
dressed the besiegers: — ^^It avails not waiting here longer 
my friends; the sun is descending to the west — and I have 
that upon my hands which will not permit me to tarry 
with you another day. Besides, it will be a marvel if the 
horsemen come not upon us from York, unless we speedily 
accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye go to Locks- 
ley, and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the 
opposite side of the castle, and move forward as if about 
to assault it; and you, true English hearts, stand by me, 
and be ready to thrust the raft endlong over the moat 
whenever the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow 
me boldly across, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in the 
main wall of the castle. As many of you as like not this 
service, or are but ill armed to meet it, do you man the 
top of the outwork, draw your bow-strings to your ears, 
and mind you quell with your shot whatever shall appear 
to man the rampart. — Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the 
direction of those which remain?’’ 

“Not so, by the soul of Hereward!” said the Saxon; “lead 
I cannot; but may posterity curse me in my grave, if I 
follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point 
the way. The quarrel is mine, and well it becomes me to 
be in the van of the battle.” 

“Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, “thou 
has neither hauberk, nor corselet, nor aught but that light 
helmet, target, and sword.” 

“The better !” answered Cedric ; “I shall be the lighter to 
climb these walls. And, — forgive the boast. Sir Knight, — 
thou shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon 'as 
boldly presented to the battle as ever ye beheld the steel 
corselet of a Norman.” 

“In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “fling open 
the door, and launch the floating bridge.” 

The portal, which led from the inner-wall of the barbican 
to the moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport in 
the main wall of the castle, was now suddenly opened; the 


IVANHOE. 


311 


temporary bridge was then thrust forward, and soon flashed 
in the waters, extending its length between the castle and 
outwork, and forming a slippery and precarious passage for 
two men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the 
importance of taking the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, 
closely followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge, 
and reached the opposite side. Here he began to thunder 
with his axe upon the gate of the castle, protected in part 
from the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins 
of the former drawbridge, which the Templar had demol- 
ished in his retreat from the barbican, leaving the counter- 
poise still attached to the upper part of the portal. The 
followers of the knight had no such shelter ; two were 
instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into 
the moat; the others retreated back into the barbican. 

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Kjnight was now 
truly dangerous, and would have been still more so, but for 
the Constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not 
to shower their arrows upon the battlements, distracting the 
attention of those by whom they were manned, and thus 
affording a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of 
missiles which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But 
their situation was eminently perilous, and was becoming 
more so with every moment. 

Shame on ye all cried He Bracy to the soldiers around 
him; ‘^^do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and let these two 
dogs keeps their station under the walls of the castle? — 
Heave over the coping stones from the battlement, an better 
may not be. — Get pick-axe and levers, and down with that 
huge pinnacle pointing to a heavy piece of stone carved- 
work that projected from the parapet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red 
flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had described 
to Cedric. The good yoeman Locksley was the first who 
was aware of it, as he was hasting to the outwork, impatient 
to see the progress of the assault. 

^^Saint George !” he cried, ‘^Merry Saint George for Eng- 
land — to the charge, bold yeomen ! — why leave ye the 
good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? 


312 


IVANHOE. 


— make in, mad priest, show thou canst fight for thy rosary — 
make in, brave yeomen ! — the castle is ours, we have friends 
within. See yonder flag;^ it is the appointed signal — 
Torquilstone is ours ! — Think of honour, think of spoil I — 
One effort, and the place is ours 

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right 
through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under 
De Bracy’s direction, was loosening a fragment from one of 
the battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and 
the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the hands 
of the dying man the iron crow, with which he heaved at 
and had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an 
arrow through his head-piece, he dropped from the battle- 
ments into the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms were 
daunted, for no armour seemed proof against the shot of 
this tremendous archer. 

^‘Do you give ground, base knaves V’ said De Bracy ; 
''Mount joye Saint Denis ! — Give me the lever 

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened 
pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, 
not only to have destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, 
which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to have 
sunk the rude float of planks over which they had crossed. 
All saw the danger, and the boldest, even the stout Friar 
himself, avoided setting foot on the raft. Thrice did Locks- 
ley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and thrice did his 
arrow bound back from the knight’s armour of proof. 

‘'Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!” said Locksley, "had 
English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, 
an as if it had been silk or sendal.” He then began to call 
out, "Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear back, and let 
the ruin fall.” 

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the 
knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern 
would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful 
Gurth indeed sprung forward on the planked bridge, to 
warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. 
But his warning would have come too late; the massive 

^ See p. 259 “see a red flag wave.” 


IVANHOE. 


313 


pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved 
at his task, would have accomplished it, had not the voice 
of the Templar sounded close in his ears: — 

‘^All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns/^ 

^‘Thou art mad to say so !” replied the knight. 

'Tt is all in a light flame on the western side. I have 
striven in vain to extinguish it.” 

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his 
character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous 
intelligence, which was not so calmly received by his aston- 
ished comrade. 

‘‘Saints of Paradise!” said De Bracy; “what is to be 
done? I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of 
pure gold — ” 

“Spare thy vow,” said the Templar, “and mark me. Lead 
thy men down, as if to a sally; throw the postern-gate open 
— there are but two men who occupy the float; fling them 
into the moat, and push across to the barbican. 1 will charge 
from the main gate, and attack the barbican on the outside; 
and if we can regain that post, be assured we shall defend 
ourselves until we are relieved, or at least till they grant 
us fair quarter.” 

“It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy; “I will play 
my part — Templar, thou wilt not fail me?” 

“Hand and glove, I will not!” said Bois-Guilbert. “But 
haste thee, in the name of God!” 

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed 
down to the postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be 
thrown open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous 
strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in 
despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost 
instantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding all 
their leader’s efforts to stop them. 

“Dogs!” said De Bracy, “will ye let two men win our 
only pass for safety?” 

“He is the devil !” said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing 
back from the blows of their sable antagonist. 

“And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “would you 
fly from him into the mouth of hell? — Tlie castle burns 


314 


IVANHOE. 


behind ns, villains! — let despair give you courage, or let 
me forward! I will cope with this champion myself/^ 

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain 
the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful 
period. The vaulted passages to which the postern gave 
entrance, and in which these two redoubted champions were 
now fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious blows 
which they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the 
Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At length the Nor- 
man received a blow, which, though its force was partly 
parried by his shield, for otherwise never more would De 
Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet with such 
violence on his crest, that he measured his length on the 
paved fioor. - 

‘‘Yield thee, De Bracy,’^ said the Black Champion, stoop- 
ing over him and holding against the bars of his helmet 
the fatal poniard with which the knights dispatched their 
enemies, (and which was called the dagger of mercy,) — 
“yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou 
art but a dead man.^^ 

“I will not yield,’^ replied De Bracy faintly, “to an 
unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleas- 
ure on me — it shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was 
prisoner to a nameless churl.^^ 

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of 
the vanquished. 

“I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,’^ 
answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and de- 
termined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen submission. 

“Go to the barbican,’^ said the victor, in a tone of 
authority, “and there await my farther orders.^^ 

“Yet first, let me say,’’ said De Bracy, “what it imports 
thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a 
prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle without 
present help.” 

“Wilfred of Ivanhoe !” exclaimed the Black Knight — 
“prisoner, and perish! — The life of every man in the castle 
shall answer it if a hair of his head be singed. Show me 
his chamber !” 


IVANHOE. 


315 


^‘^Ascend yonder winding stair/^ said De Bracy; ^^it leads 
to his apartment. — Wilt thou not accept my guidance?’^ he 
added, in a submissive voice. 

‘‘No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I 
trust thee not, De Bracy.” 

During this combat and the brief conversation which 
ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among whom 
the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed across the bridge as 
soon as they saw the postern open, an<J drove back the dis- 
pirited and despairing followers of De Bracy, of whom some 
asked quarter, some offered vain resistance, and the greater 
part fled towards the court-yard. De Bracy himself arose 
from the ground, and cast a sorrowful glance after his con- 
queror. “He trusts me not!” he repeated; “but have I 
deserved his trust ?” He then lifted his sword from the floor, 
took off his helmet in token of submission, and, going to 
the barbican gave up his sword to Locksley, whom he met by 
the way. 

As the Are augmented, symptoms of it became sook 
apparent in the chamber, where Ivanhoe was watched and 
tended by the Jewess Rebecca. He had been awakened from 
his brief slumber by the noise of the battle; and his attend- 
ant, who had, at his anxious desire, again placed herself at 
the window to watch and report to him the fate of the 
attack, was for some time prevented from observing either, 
by the increase of the smouldering and stifling vapour. At 
length the volumes of smoke which rolled into the apart- 
ment — the cries for water, which were heard even above the 
din of the battle, made them sensible of the progress of this 
new danger. 

“The castle burns,” said Rebecca; “it burns! — What 
can we do to save ourselves?” 

“Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,” said Ivanhoe, 
“for no human aid can avail me.” 

“I will not fly,” answered Rebecca; “we will be saved or 
perish together. — And yet, great God ! — my father, my father 
— what will be his fate !” 

At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and 
the Templar presented himself, — a ghastly figure, for his 


316 


IVANHOE. 


gilded armour was broken and bloody, and the plume was 
partly shorn away, partly burnt from his casque. have 
found thee,” said he to Eebecca; ^“^thou shalt prove I will 
keep my word to share weal and woe with thee. There is 
but one path to safety; — I have cut my way through fifty 
dangers to point it to thee — up, and instantly follow me !” 

‘‘Alone,” answered Eebecca, “I will not follow thee. If 
thou wert born of woman — if thou hast but a touch of 
human charity in ttiee — if thy heart be not hard as thy 
breastplate — save my aged father — save this wounded knight !” 

“A knight,” answered the Templar, with his character- 
istic calmness, “a knight, Eebecca, must encounter his fate, 
whether it meet him in the shape of sword or fiame — and 
who recks how or wEere a Jew meets with his?” 

“Savage warrior,” said Eebecca, “rather will I perish in 
the flames than accept safety from thee!” 

“Thou shalt not choose, Eebecca — once didst thou foil 
me, but never mortal did so twice.” 

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled 
the air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in 
his arms in spite of her cries, and without regarding the 
menaces and defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against him. 
“Hound of the Temple — stain to thine Order — set free the 
damsel ! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands 
thee ! — Villain, I will have thy hearts blood !” 

“I had not found thee, Wilfred,” said the Black Knight, 
who at that instant entered the apartment, “but for thy 
shouts.” 

“If thou be’st true knight,” said Wilfred, “think not of 
me — pursue yon ravisher — save the Lady Eowena — look to 
the noble Cedric 1” 

“In their turn,” answered he of the fetterlock, “but thine 
is first.” 

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much 
ease as the Templar had carried off Eebecca, rushed with 
him to the postern, and having there delivered his burden 
to the care of two yeomen, he again entered the castle to 
assist in the rescue of the other prisoners. 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out 


IVANHOE. 


317 


furiously from window and shot-hole. But in other parts 
the great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the 
apartments resisted the progress of the flames, and there the 
rage of man still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful 
element held mastery elsewhere ; for the besiegers pursued the 
defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber, and satiated 
in their blood the vengeance which had long animated them 
against the soldiers of the tyrant Front-de-Boeuf. Most of 
the garrison resisted to the uttermost — few of them asked 
quarter — none received it. The air was fllled with groans 
and clashing of arms — the floors were slippery with the blood 
of despairing and expiring wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in quest 
of Eowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely 
through the melee, neglected his own safety while he strove 
to avert the blows that were aimed at his master. The 
noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward’s apart- 
ment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety, and, 
with the cruciflx clasped in agony to her bosom, sat in 
expectation of instant death. He committed her to the 
charge of Gurth, to be conducted in safety to the barbican, 
the road to which was now cleared of the enemy, and not 
yet interrupted by the flames. This accomplished, the loyal 
Cedric hastened in quest of his friend Athelstane, deter- 
mined, at every risk to himself, to save that last scion of 
Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the 
old hall in which he had himself been a prisoner, the invent- 
ive genius of Wamba had procured liberation for himself and 
his companion in adversity. 

When the noise ‘of the conflict announced that it was at 
the hottest, the J ester began to shout, with the utmost 
power of his lungs, ^^Saint George and the dragon ! — 
Bonny Saint George for merry England! — The castle is 
won !” And these sounds he rendered yet more fearful, by 
banging against each other two or three pieces of rusty 
armour which lay scattered around the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer, or ante- 
room, and whose spirits were already in a state of alarm, 
took fright at Wamba’s clamour, and, leaving the door 


318 


IVANHOE. 


open behind them, ran to tell the Templar that foemen had 
entered the old hall. Meantime the prisoners found no 
difficulty in making their escape into the anteroom, and 
from thence into the court of the castle, which was now 
the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar, 
mounted on horseback, surrounded by several of the garrison 
both on horse and foot, who had united their strength to 
that of this renowned leader, in order to secure the last 
chance of safety and retreat which remained to them. The 
drawbridge had been lowered by his orders, but the passage 
was beset; for the archers, who had hitherto only annoyed 
the castle on that side by their missiles, no sooner saw the 
flames breaking out, and the bridge lowered, than they 
thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent the escape of 
the garrison, as to secure their own share of booty ere the 
castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a party 
of the besiegers who had entered by the postern were now 
issuing out into the courtyard, and attacking with fury the 
remnant of the defenders, who were thus assaulted on both 
sides at once. 

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the ex- 
ample of their indomitable leader, the remaining soldiers 
of the castle fought, with the utmost valour; and, being 
well armed, succeeded more than once in driving back the 
assailants, though much inferior in numbers. Eebecca, 
placed on horseback before one of the Templar’s Saracen 
slaves, was in the midst of the little party; and Bois-Guil- 
bert, notwithstanding the confusion of the bloody fray, 
showed every attention to her safety. Eepeatedly he was 
by her side, and, neglecting his own defence, held before her 
the fence of his triangular steel-plated shield ; and anon start- 
ing from his position by her, he cried his war-cry, dashed 
forward, struck to earth the most forward of the assailants, 
and was on the same instant once more at her bridle rein. 

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but 
not cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar 
protected thus sedulously, and doubted not that it was 
Eowena whom the knight was carrying off, in despite of all 
resistance which could be offered. 


IVANHOE. 


319 


“By the soul of Saint Edward,” he said, “I will rescue 
her from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by my 
hand !” 

“Think what you do !” cried Wamba ; 'diasty hand catches 
frog for fish — by my bauble, yonder is none of my Lady 
Eowena — see but her long dark locks! — Nay, an ye will not 
know black from white, ye may be leader, but I will be no 
follower — no bones of mine shall be broken unless I know for 
whom. — And you without armour too! — Bethink you, silk 
bonnet never kept out steel blade. — Nay, then, if wilful will 
to water, wilful must drench . — Deus vohiscum, most doughty 
Athelstane !” — he concluded, loosening the hold which he had 
hitherto kept upon the Saxon^s tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay 
beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it — to 
rush on the Templar’s band, and to strike in quick succes- 
sion to the right and left, levelling a warrior at each blow, 
was, for Athelstane’s great strength, now animated with 
unusual fury, but the work of a single moment; he was 
soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he defied in 
his loudest tone. 

“Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou art 
unworthy to touch — turn, limb of a band of murdering and 
hypocritical robbers !” 

“Dog!” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “I will 
teach thee to blaspheme the holy Order of the Temple of 
Zion;” and with these words, half-wheeling his steed, he 
made a demi-courbette towards the Saxon, and rising in 
the stirrups, so as to take a full advantage of the descent 
of the horse, he discharged a fearful blow upon the head of 
Athelstane. 

Well said, Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no steel 
blade. So trenchant was the Templar’s weapon, that it 
shore asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the tough and 
plaited handle of the mace, which the ill-fated Saxon reared 
to parry the blow, and, descending on his head, levelled him 
with the earth. 

‘'Ha! Beau-seant r exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, “thus be it 
to the maligners of the Temple-knights!” Taking advan- 


320 


IVANHOE. 


tage of the dismay which was spread by the fall of Athel- 
stane, ahd calling aloud, ^^Those who would save themselves, 
follow me he pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the 
archers who would have intercepted them. He was followed 
by his Saracens, and some five or six men-at-arms, who had 
mounted their horses. The Templar’s retreat was rendered 
perilous by the numbers of arrows shot off at him and his 
party; but this did not prevent him from galloping round 
to the barbican, of which, according to his previous plan, he 
supposed it possible He Bracy might have been in possession. 

“De Bracy ! De Bracy !” he shouted, ‘^art thou there 
am here,” replied De Bracy, ^Tut I am a prisoner.” 

‘^Can I rescue thee?” cried Bois-Guilbert. 

^^No,” replied De Bracy; ‘T have rendered me, rescue or 
no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself — there are 
hawks abroad — put the seas betwixt you and England — I 
dare not say more.” 

^‘Well,” answered the Templar, ^^an thou wilt tarry there, 
remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be the hawks 
where they will, methinks the walls of the Preceptory of 
Templestowe^ will be cover sufficient, and thither will I, like 
heron to her haunt.” 

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers. 

Those of the castle, who had not gotten to horse, still 
continued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after the 
departure of the Templar, but rather in despair of quarter 
than that they entertained any hope of escape. The fire 
was spreading rapidly through all parts of the castle, when 
Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in 
the guise of one of the ancient furies,^ yelling forth a war- 
song, such as was of yore raised on the field of battle by the 
scalds® of the yet heathen Saxons. Her long dishevelled 
grey hair flew back from her uncovered head ; the inebriating 
delight of gratified vengeance contended in her eyes with 
the fire of insanity; and she brandished the distaff which 
she held in her hand, as if she had been one of the Fatal 

1 The establishments of the Knight who were avengers of crimes. They 
Templars were called Preceptories; the were three in number: Alecto, Tisiphone 
houses of the Knights of St. John were (ti-siph'o-ne) and Megaera (me-je'ra). 
termed Commanderies. 3 ancient Scandinavian minstrels. 

* Goddesses of the Greek mythology 


IVANHOE. 


321 


Sisters/ who spin and abridge the thread of human life. 
Tradition has preserved some wild strophes of the barbarous 
hymn which she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire 
and of slaughter: — 


1 


Whet the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, 
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist! 

2 

The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle; 

The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth. 

The race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 


3 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle. 

The black clouds gather round; 

Soon shall they be as red as the blood of the valiant! 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them, 

He, the bright consumer of palaces. 

Broad waves he his blazing banner. 

Red, wide and dusky. 

Over the strife of the valiant: 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound! 

1 The Fates of ancient mythology were the thread; and Atropos (At'ro-pos), 

the three sisters who spin the thread of with the scissors with which she cuts 

human life. Lachesis (lak' e-sis) was the thread, 
represented with a spindle; Clotho, with 


322 


IVANHOE. 



All must perish! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet; 

The strong armour is pierced by the lance; 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes, 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 

The name of Horsa is no more! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword. 

Let your blades drink blood like wine; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 

By the light of the blazing halls! 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 

And spare neither for pity nor fear. 

For vengeance hath but an hour; 

Strong hate itself shall expire! 

I also must perish! 

The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruc- 
tion, and rose to the evening skies one huge and burning 
beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country. 
Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing roof and 
rafter; and the combatants were driven from the court-yard. 
The vanquished, of whom very few remained, scattered and 
escaped into the neighbouring wood. The victors, assembling 
in large bands, gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, 
upon the flames, in which their own ranks and arms 
glanced dusky red. The maniac flgure of the Saxon Ulrica 
was for a long time visible on the lofty stand she had 
chosen, tossing her arms abroad with wild exultation, as if 
she reigned empress of the conflagration which she had 
raised. At length, with a terrific crash, the whole turret 
gave way, and she perished in the flames which had con- 
sumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horror silenced each 
murmur of the armed spectators, who, for the space of 
several minutes, stirred not a Anger, save to sign the cross. 
The voice of Locksley was then heard, ^‘Shout, yeomen ! — 
the den of tyrants is no more ! Let each bring his spoil to 
our chosen place of rendezvous at the Trysting-tree in the 
Harthill walk; for there at break of day will we make just 
partition among our own bands, together with our worthy 
allies in this deed of vengeance.’’ 


IVANHOE 


323 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE OUTLAWS AND THE TRYSTING-TREE. DIVISION OF THE SPOILS. 
GURTH PARDONED. GRATITUDE OF CEDRIC AND ROWENA. 
GIFT TO THE BLACK CHAMPION. DEPARTURE OF CEDRIC FOR 
ROTHERWOOD. INTERCHANGE OF A CUFF. 

The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak 
forest. The green boughs glittered with all their pearls of 
dew. The hind led her fawn from the covert of high fern 
to the more open walks of the greenwood, and no huntsman 
was there to watch or intercept the stately hart, as he paced 
at the head of the antlered herd. 

The outlaws were all assembled around the Trysting-tree 
in the Harthill walk, where they had spent the night in 
refreshing themselves after the fatigues of the siege, some 
with wine, some with slumber, many with hearing and recount- 
ing the events of the day, and computing the heaps of plunder 
which their success had placed at the disposal of their Chief. 

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstanding 
that much was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich armour, 
and splendid clothing, had been secured by the exertions 
of the dauntless outlaws, who could be appalled by no 
danger when such rewards were in view. Yet so strict were 
the laws of their society, that no one ventured to appropriate 
any part of the booty, which was brought into one common 
mass, to be at the disposal of their leader. 

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not however 
the same to which Locksley had conducted Gurth and 
Wamba in the earlier part of the story, but one which was 
the centre of a silvan amphitheatre, within half a mile of 
the demolished castle of Torquilstone. Here Locksley 
assumed his seat — a throne of turf erected under the 
twisted branches of the huge oak, and the silvan followers 
were gathered around him. He assigned to the Black Knight 
a se’at at his right hand, and to Cedric a place upon his left. 

“Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,^’ he said, “but in these 
glades I am monarch — they are my kingdom; and these 
my wild subjects would reck but little of my power, were 
I, within my own dominions, to yield place to mortal man. 


334 


IVANHOE. 


— Now, sirs, who hath seen onr chaplain? where is onr curtal 
Friar A mass amongst Christian men best begins a busy 
morning/’ — No one had seen the Clerk of Copmanhnrst, 
^^Over gods forbode !” said the outlaw chief, trust the 
jolly priest hath but abidden by the wine-pot a thought too 
late. Who saw him since the castle was ta’en?” 

quoth the Miller, ^^marked him busy about the door 
of a cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar he would 
taste the smack of Front-de-Boeufs Gascoigne wine.” 

^^Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,” said the 
Captain, ‘^forefend,^ lest he has drunk too deep of the wine- 
butts, and perished by the fall of the castle ! — Away, Miller ! 
— take with you enow^ of men, seek the place where you last 
saw him — throw water from the moat on the scorching 
ruins — I will have them removed stone by stone ere I lose 
my curtal Friar.” 

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, consider- 
ing that an interesting division of spoil was about to take 
place, showed how much the troop had at heart the safety 
of their spiritual father. 

^^Meanwhile, let us proceed,” said Locksley; ^Tor when 
this bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands of De 
Bracy, of Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-Boeuf, will 
be in motion against us, and it were well for our safety that 
we retreat from the vicinity. — Noble Cedric,” he said, 
turning to the Saxon, ‘That spoil is divided into two por- 
tions; do thou make choice of that which best suits thee, 
to recompense thy people who were partakers with us in 
this adventure.” 

“Good yeoman,” said Cedric, “my heart is oppressed 
with sadness. The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is 
no more — the last sprout of the sainted Confessor! Hopes 
have perished with him which can never return ! — A sparkle 
hath been quenched by his blood, which no human breath 
can again rekindle! My people, save the few who are now 
with me, do but tarry my presence to transport his honoured 
remains to their last mansion. The Lady Eowena is desirous 
to return to Eotherwood, and must be escorted by a sufficient 


1 friar wearing a short coat or habit. 


2 ward off, prevent. * enough. 


IVANHOE. 


325 


force. I should, therefore, ere now, have left this place; and 
I waited — not to share the booty, for, so help me God and 
Saint Withold ! as neither I nor any of mine will touch the 
value of a liard,^ — I waited but to render my thanks to thee 
and to thy bold yeomen, for the life and honour ye have 
saved.” 

‘^Nay, but,” said the chief Outlaw, ^‘we did but half 
the work at most — take of the spoil that may reward your 
own neighbours and followers.” 

am rich enough to reward them from mine own 
wealth,” answered Cedric. 

^^And some,” said Wamba, ^‘have been wise enough to 
reward themselves; they do not march off empty-handed 
altogether. We do not all wear motley.”^ 

^‘^They are welcome,” said Locksley; ^^our laws bind none 
but ourselves.” 

^‘^But, thou, my poor knave,” said Cedric, turning about 
and embracing his Jester, “how shall I reward thee, who 
feared not to give thy body to chains and death instead of 
mine? — All forsook me, when the poor fool was faithful!” 

A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane as he spoke — 
a mark of feeling which even the death of Athelstane had 
not extracted; but there was something in the half-instinc- 
tive attachment of his clown, that waked his nature more 
keenly than even grief itself. 

“Nay,” said the Jester, extricating himself from his 
master’s caress, “if you pay my service with the water of 
your eye, the Jester must weep for company, and then what 
becomes of his vocation? — But, uncle, if you would indeed 
pleasure me, I pray you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, 
who stole a week from your service to bestow it on your son.” 

“Pardon him !” exclaimed Cedric ; “I will both pardon 
and reward him. — Eineel down, Gurth.” — The swineherd 
was in an instant at his master’s feet — “Theow and Esne® 
art thou no longer,” said Cedric, touching him with a 
wand; “Folkeree and Sacless^ art thou in town and from 
town, in the forest as in the field. A hide of land® I give 

1 (pron. le-ar) small French coin. * lawful freeman. 

2 ^ess of various colors, such as jest- ® variously estimated at from 80 to 

ers xisually wore. 120 acres. 

* thrall and bondsman. 


326 


IVANHOE. 


to thee in my steads^ of Walbrngham, from me and mine to 
thee and thine aye and forever; and God^s malison^ on his 
head who this gainsays 

No longer a serf, bnt a freeman and a land-holder, Gurth 
sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost 
his own height from the ground. 

smith and a hie,” he cried, ‘^to do away the collar 
from the neck of a freeman ! — noble master ! doubled is 
my strength by your gift, and doubly will I hght for you! 
— There is a free spirit in my breast — I am a man changed 
to myself and all around. — Ha, Fangs I” he continued, — for 
that faithful cur, seeing his master thus transported, began 
to jump upon him, to express his sympathy, — “knowest thou 
thy master still?” 

‘^Ay,” said Wamba, ^Tangs and I still know thee, Gurth, 
though we must needs abide by the collar; it is only thou 
art likely to forget both us and thyself.” 

‘T shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true 
comrade,” said Gurth; ^^and were freedom fit for thee, 
Wamba, the master would not let thee want it.” 

^‘Nay,” said Wamba, ^^never think I envy thee, brother 
Gurth; the serf sits by the hall-fire when the freeman must 
forth to the field of battle. And what saith Oldhelm of 
Malmsbury® — Better a fool at a feast than a wise man at 
a fray.” 

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady 
Kowena appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a much 
stronger party of footmen, who joyfully shook their pikes 
and clashed their brown-bills for joy of her freedom. She 
herself, richly attired, and mounted on a dark chestnut 
palfrey, had recovered all the dignity of her manner, and 
only an unwonted degree of paleness showed the sufferings 
she had undergone. Her lovely brow, though sorrowful, 
bore on it a cast of reviving hope for the future, as well as 
of grateful thankfulness for the past, deliverance. She knew 
that Ivanhoe was safe, and she knew that Athelstane was 
dead. The former assurance filled her with the most sincere 

* estates. (We have home-stead, house * a poet abbot of Malmsbury mon- 
and adjacent land occupied as a home.) astery, born about 656, died 709. 

2 malediction, curse. 


IVANHOE. 


327 


delight; and if she did not absolutely rejoice at the latter, 
she might be pardoned for feeling the full advantage of being 
freed from further persecution on the only subject in which 
she had ever been contradicted by her guardian Cedric. 

As Eowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that 
bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, 
as if by a general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to 
her cheeks, as, courteously waving her hand, and bending 
so low that her beautiful and loose tresses were for an 
instant mixe’d with the flowing mane of her palfrey, she 
expressed in few but apt words her obligations and her 
gratitude to Locksley and her other deliverers. — ^^God bless 
you, brave men,^’ she concluded, ‘^God and Our Lady bless 
you and requite you for gallantly perilling yourselves in 
the cause of the oppressed ! — If any of you should hunger, 
remember Eowena has food — if you should thirst, she has 
many a butt of wine and brown ale — and if the ISTormans 
drive ye from these walks, Eowena has forests of her own, 
where her gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, 
and never ranger ask whose arrow hath struck do^vn the 
deer.” 

“Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley; “thanks from my 
company and myself. But, to have saved you requites 
itself. We who walk the greenwood do many a wild deed, 
and the Lady Eowena's deliverance may be received as an 
atonement.” 

Again bowing from her palfrey, Eowena turned to 
depart; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to 
attend her, was also taking his leave, she found herself 
unexpectedly close by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood 
under a tree in deep meditation, his arms crossed upon his 
breast, and Eowena was in hopes she might pass him un- 
observed. He looked up, however, and, when aware of her 
presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his handsome 
countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; then, 
stepping forward, took her palfrey by the rein, and bent 
his knee before her. 

“Will the Lady Eowena deign to cast an eye on a captive 
knight — on a dishonoured soldier?” 


328 


IVANHOE. 


^^Sir Knight/’ answered ^lowena, ^hn enterprises such 
as yours, the real dishonour lies not in failure, but in success.” 

^‘Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered De 
Bracy; ^det me but know that the Lady Rowena forgives 
the violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and she shall 
soon learn that De Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler 
ways.” 

forgive you. Sir Knight,” said Rowena, ^^as a Christian.” 

^^That means,” said Wamba, ^dhat she does not forgive 
him at all.” 

“But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your 
madness has occasioned,” continued Rowena. 

“Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said Cedric, 
coming up. “By the bright sun above us, but it were shame, 
I would pin thee to the earth with my javelin — but be well 
assured, thou shalt smart, Maurice De Bracy, for thy share 
in this foul deed.” 

“He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,” said De 
Bracy ; “but when had a Saxon any touch of courtesy ?” 

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the lady 
to move on. 

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar gratitude 
to the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him to 
accompany him to Rotherwood. 

“I know,” he said, “that ye errant knights desire to carry 
your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck not of 
land or goods; but war is a changeful mistress, and a home 
is sometimes desirable even to the champion whose trade is 
wandering. Thou hast earned one in the halls of Rother- 
wood, noble knight. Cedric has wealth enough to repair 
the injuries of fortune, and all he has is his deliverer’s. 
Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as a guest, but as a 
son or brother.” 

“Cedric has already made me rich,” said the Knight, — 
“he has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To Rother- 
wood will I come, brave Saxon, and that speedily; but as 
now pressing matters of moment detain me from your halls. 
Peradventure when I come hither, I will ask such a boon 
as will put even thy generosity to the test.” 


IVANHOE. 


329 


is granted ere spoken ont/^ said Cedric, striking his 
ready hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black Knight, 
— ^^it is granted already, were it to affect half my fortune/’ 

^^Gage not thy promise so lightly,” said the Knight of 
the Fetterlock; ^^yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall 
ask. Meanwhile, adieu.” 

“1 have but to say,” added the Saxon, ^^that, during the 
funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an inhabi- 
tant of the halls of this castle of Coningsburgh. They will 
be open to all who choose to partake of. the funeral ban- 
queting; and, I speak in name of the noble Edith, mother 
of the fallen prince, they will never be shut against him 
who laboured so bravely, though unsuccessfully, to save 
Athelstane from Korman chains and Korman steel.” 

“Ay, ay,” said Wamba, who had resqmed his attendance 
on his master, “rare feeding there will be — pity that the 
noble Athelstane cannot banquet at his own funeral. — But 
he,” continued the Jester, lifting up his eyes gravely, “is 
supping in Paradise, and doubtless does honour to the cheer.” 

“Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at this 
untimely jest being checked by the recollection of Wamba’s 
recent services. Bowena waved a graceful adieu to him of 
the Fetterlock — the Saxon bade God speed him, and on 
they moved through a wide glade of the forest. 

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession moved 
from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly round 
the silvan amphitheatre, and took the same direction with 
Bowena and her followers. The priests of a neighbouring 
convent, in expectation of the ample donation, or soul-scot, 
which Cedric had propined,^ attended upon the car in which 
the body of Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it was 
sadly and slowly borne on the shoulders of his vassals to 
his castle of Coningsburgh, to be there deposited in the 
grave of Hengist, from whom the deceased derived his long 
descent. Many of his vassals had assembled at the news of 
his death, and followed the bier with all the external marks, 
at least, of dejection and sorrow. Again the outlaws arose, 
and paid the same rude and spontaneous homage to death. 


1 pledged. 


330 


IVANHOE. 


which they had so lately rendered to beauty — the slow chant 
and mournful step of the priests brought back to their 
remembrance such of their comrades as had fallen in the 
yesterday’s affray. But such recollections dwell not long 
with those who lead a life of danger and enterprise, and 
ere the sound of the death-hymn had died on the wind, the 
outlaws were again busied in the distribution of their spoil. 

‘‘Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black Champion, 
“without whose good heart and mighty arm our enterprise 
must altogether have failed, will it please you to take from 
that mass of spoil whatever may best serve to pleasure you, 
and to remind you of this my Trysting-tree ?” 

“I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “as frankly as it 
is given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice de 
Bracy at my own pleasure.” 

“He is thine already,” said Locksley, “and well for him! 
else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of this oak, 
with as many of his Free Companions as we could gather, 
hanging thick as acorns around him. — But he is thy 
prisoner, and he is safe, though he had slain my father.” 

“De Bracy,” said the Knight, “thou art free — depart. 
He whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge 
for what is past. But beware of the future, lest a worst 
thing befall thee. — Maurice de Bracy, I say beware !” 

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and 'was about to 
withdraw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of 
execration and derision. The proud knight instantly 
stopped, turned back, folded his arms, drew up his form to 
its full height, and exclaimed, “Peace, ye yelping curs ! 
who open upon a cry which ye followed not when the stag' was 
at bay — De Bracy scorns your censure as he would disdain 
your applause. To your brakes and caves, ye outlawed 
thieves ! and be silent when aught knightly or noble is but 
spoken within a league of your fox-earths.” 

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De Bracy 
a volley of arrows, but for the hasty and imperative inter- 
ference of the outlaw Chief. Meanwhile the knight caught 
a horse by the rein, for several which had been taken in the 
stables of Front-de-Boeuf stood accoutred around, and were 


IVANHOE. 


331 


a valuable part of the booty. He threw himself upon the 
saddle, and galloped off through the wood. 

When the bustle occasioned by this incident was some- 
what composed, the chief Outlaw took from his neck the 
rich horn and baldric which he had recently gained at the 
strife of archery near Ashby. 

^^Noble knight,’’ he said to him of the Fetterlock, ‘^if 
you disdain not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which 
an English yeoman has once worn, this I will pray you to 
keep as a memorial of your gallant bearing — and if ye have 
anght to do, and, as happened oft to a gallant knight, ye 
chance to be hard bested in any forest between Trent and 
Tees,^ wind three mots^ upon the horn thus, Wa-sa-hoa! and it 
may well chance ye shall find helpers and rescue.” 

He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once and 
again the call which he described, until the knight had 
caught the notes. 

^^Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,” said the Knight; 
^^and better help than thine and thy rangers’ would I 
never seek, were it at my utmost need.” And then in his 
turn he winded the call till all the greenwood rang. 

“Well blown and clearly,” said the yeoman; “beshrew me® 
and thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war! — 
thou hast been a striker of deer in thy day, I warrant. — 
Comrades, mark these three mots — it is the call of the 
Khight of the Fetterlock; and he who hears it, and hastens 
not to serve him at his need, I will have him scourged out 
of our band with his own bowstring.” 

“Long live our leader I” shouted the yeomen, “and long 
live the Black Knight of the Fetterlock I — May he soon use 
our service, to prove how readily it will be paid.” 

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, 
which he performed with the most laudable impartiality. 
A tenth part of the whole was set apart for the church, 
and for pious uses; a portion was next allotted to a sort 
of public treasury; a part was assigned to the widows and 
children of those who had fallen, or to be expended in 
masses for the souls of such as had left no surviving family. 


* See map, page iv. 


2 three bugle notes. 


* may I be cursed if. 


332 


IVANHOE. 


The rest was divided amongst the outlaws, according to 
their rank and merit; and the judgment of the Chief on all 
such doubtful questions as occurred, was delivered with 
great shrewdness and received with absolute submission. 
The Black Knight was not a little surprised to find that 
men, in a state so lawless, were nevertheless among them- 
selves so regularly and equitably governed, and all that he 
observed added to his opinion of the justice and judgment 
of their leader. 

When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, 
and while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeomen, 
was transporting that belonging to the state to some place 
of concealment or of security, the portion devoted to the 
church still remained unappropriated. 

would,^^ said the leader, ‘Ve could hear tidings of our 
joyous chaplain — he was never wont to be absent when meat 
was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted; and it is his duty 
to take care of these the tithes of our successful enterprise. 
It may be the office has helped to cover some of his canon- 
ical irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of his a pris- 
oner at no great distance, and I would fain have the Friar 
to help me to deal with him in due sort. I greatly misdoubt 
the safety of the bluff priest.^^ 

‘T were right sorry for that,^^ said the Knight of the 
Fetterlock, ^Tor I stand indebted to him for the joyous 
hospitality of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the ruins 
of the castle; it may be we shall there learn some tidings of 
him.^^ 

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen 
announced the arrival of him ior whom they feared, as they 
learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar himself, long 
before they saw his burly person. 

^‘Make room, my merry men!” he exclaimed; ^^room for 
your godly father and his prisoner — cry welcome once more. 
— I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my prey in my 
clutch.” — And making his way through the ring, amidst the 
laughter of all around, he appeared in majestic triumph, 
his huge partisan in one hand, and in the other a halter, 
one end of which was fastened to the neck of the unfortu- 


IVANHOE. 


333 


nate Isaac of York, who, bent down by sorrow and terror, 
was dragged on by the victorious priest, who shouted aloud, 
‘‘Where is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if it 
were but a lay? — By Saint Hermangild, the jingling crowder 
is ever out of the way where there is an apt theme for exalting 
valour 

“Curtal Priest,’^ said the Captain, “thou hast been at a 
wet mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name of 
Saint Nicholas, whom hast thou got here?’^ 

“A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble Captain,^’ 
replied the Clerk of Copmanhurst; “to my bow and to my 
halberd, I should rather say; and yet I have redeemed him 
by my divinity from a worse captivity. Speak, Jew — have 
I not ransomed thee from Sathanas? — ^have I not taught 
thee thy credo, thy pater, and thine Ave Maria ? — Did I 
not spend the whole night in drinking to thee, and in ex- 
pounding of mysteries?’^ 

“For the love of God !” ejaculated the poor Jew, “will 
no one take me out of the keeping of this mad — I mean this 
holy man?” 

“How’s this, Jew?” said the Friar, with a menacing 
aspect; “dost thou recant, Jew? — Bethink thee, if thou dost 
relapse into thine infidelity, though thou art not so tender 
as a suckling pig — I would I had one to break my fast upon 
— thou art not too tough to be roasted ! Be conformable, 
Isaac, and repeat the words after me. Ave Maria! ’’ 

“Nay, we will have no profanation, mad Priest,” said 
Locksley ; “let us rather hear where you found this prisoner 
of thine.” 

“By Saint Dunstan,” said the Friar, “I found him where 
I sought for better ware! I did step into the cellarage to 
see what might be rescued there; for though a cup of 
burnt wine, with spice, be an evening’s draught for an 
emperor, it were waste, methought, to let so much good 
liquor be mulled at once ; and I had caught up one runlet of 
sack, and was coming to call more aid among these lazy 
knaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed is to be done, 
when I was avised^ of a strong door. — Aha! thought I, here 


* advised of, led to notice. 


334 


IVANHOE. 


is the choicest juice of all in this secret crypt; and the 
knave butler, being disturbed in his vocation, hath left the 
key in the door. In therefore I went, and found just nought 
besides a commodity of rusted chains and this dog of a 
Jew, who presently rendered himself my prisoner, rescue or 
no rescue. I did but refresh myself after the fatigue of the 
action with the unbeliever, with one humming cup of sack, 
and was proceeding to lead forth my captive, when, crash 
after crash, as with wild thunder-dint and levin-fire,^ down 
toppled the masonry of an outer tower, (marry beshrew 
their hands that built it not the firmer ! ) and blocked up 
the passage. The roar of one falling tower followed an- 
other — I gave up thought of life; and deeming it a dis- 
honour to one of my profession to pass out of this world 
in company with a Jew, I heaved up my halberd to beat 
his brains out; but I took pity on his grey hairs, and judged 
it better to lay down the partisan, and take up my spiritual 
weapon for his conversion. And truly, by the blessing of 
Saint Dunstan, the seed has been sown in good soil; only 
that, with speaking to him of mysteries through the whole 
night, and being in a manner fasting, (for the few draughts 
of sack which I sharpened my wits with were not worth 
marking,) my head is well-nigh dizzied, I trow. — But I 
was clean exhausted. — Gilbert and Wibbald know in what 
state they found me — quite and clean exhausted.^^ 

“We can bear witness,” said Gilbert; “for when we had 
cleared away the ruin, and by Saint Dunstan’s help lighted 
upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of sack half- 
empty, the Jew half-dead, and the Friar more than half — 
exhausted, as he calls it.” 

“Ye be knaves! ye lie!” retorted the offended Friar; “it 
was you and your gormandising companions that drunk up 
the sack, and called it your morning draught. I am a 
pagan, and I kept it not for the Captain’s own throat. But 
what recks it? The Jew is converted, and understands all 
I have told him, very nearly, if not altogether, as well as 
myself.” 

“Jew,” said the Captain, “is this true? hast thou re- 
nounced thine unbelief?” 

1 thunder and lightning. 


IVANHOE. 


335 


^^May I so find mercy in your eyes,” said the Jew, ^^as 
I know not one word which the reverend prelate spake to 
me all this fearful night. Alas! I was so distraught with 
agony, and fear, and grief, that had our holy father Abra- 
ham come to preach to me, he had found but a deaf listener.” 

“Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,” said the 
Friar; “I will remind thee of but one word of our con- 
ference — thou didst promise to give all thy substance to our 
holy Order.” 

“So help me the Promise, fair sirs,” said Isaac, even 
more alarmed than before, “as no such sounds ever crossed 
my lips ! Alas ! I am an aged beggar’d man — I fear me 
a childless — have ruth on me, and let me go 1” 

“Nay,” said the Friar, “if thou dost retract vows made 
in favour of Holy Church, thou must do penance.” 

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid 
the staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not the 
Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred 
the Holy Clerk’s resentment to himself. 

“By Saint Thomas of Kent,”^ said he, “an I buckle to 
my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with thine 
own matters,^ maugre thine iron case there !” 

“Nay, be not wroth with me,” said the Knight; “thou 
knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.” 

“I know no such thing,” answered the Friar; “and defy 
thee for a meddling coxcomb 1” 

“Nay, but,” said the Knight, who seemed to take a 
pleasure in provoking his quondam host, “hast thou for- 
gotten how that for my sake (for I say nothing of the 
temptation of the flagon and the pasty) thou didst break 
thy vow of fast and vigil?” 

“Truly, friend,” said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, 
will bestow a buffet on thee.” 

“I accept of no such presents,” said the Knight; “I am 
content to take thy cuff as a loan, but I will repay thee with 
usury as deep as ever thy prisoner there exacted in his 
traffic.” 

“I will prove that presently,” said the Friar. 

1 Thomas ^ Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury canonized 1172. 

2 attend to thine own affairs, in spite of thy helmet. 


336 


IVANHOE. 


cried the Captain, ''what art thou after, mad 
Friar? brawling beneath our Trysting-tree 

"No brawling,’" said the Knight; "it is but a friendly 
interchange of courtesy. — Friar, strike an thou darest — I 
will stand thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.” 

"Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy 
head,” said the churchman; "but have at thee — down thou 
goest, an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen helmet.” 

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and 
putting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a 
buffet that might have felled an ox. But his adversary 
stood firm as a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all the 
yeomen around; for the Clerk’s cuff was proverbial amongst 
them, and there were few who, in jest or earnest, had not 
had occasion to know its vigour. 

"Now, Priest,” said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, 
"if I had vantage on my head I will have none on my hand — 
stand fast as a true man.” 

''Genam meam dedi vapulatori — I have given my cheek 
to the smiter,” said the Priest; "an thou canst stir me from 
the spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the Jew’s 
ransom.” 

So spoke the burly Priest, assuming, on his part, high 
defiance. But who may resist his fate? The buffet of the 
Knight was given with such strength and good-will, that 
the Friar rolled head over heels upon the plain, to the great 
amazement of all the spectators. But he arose neither angry 
nor crestfallen. 

"Brother,” said he to the Knight, "thou shouldst have 
used thy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled 
but a lame mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the piper 
plays ill that wants the nether chops. Nevertheless, there 
is my hand, in friendly witness, that I will exchange no 
more cuffs with thee, having been a loser by the barter. End 
now all unkindness. Let us put the Jew to ransom, since 
the leopard will not change his spots, and a Jew he will 
continue to be.” 

"The Priest,” said Clement, "is not half so confident of 
the J ew’s conversion, since he received that buffet on the ear J’ 


IVANHOE. 


337 


“Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions? — what, 
is there no respect? — all masters and no men? — I tell thee, 
fellow, I was somewhat totty when I received the good 
knight’s blow, or I had kept my ground under it. But an 
thou gibest more of it, thou shalt learn I can give as well 
as take.” 

“Peace all !” said the Captain. “And thou, Jew, think 
of thy ransom; thou needest not to be told that thy race are 
held to be accursed in all Christian communities, and trust 
me that we cannot endure thy presence among us. T^ink, 
therefore, of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of another 
cast.” 

“Were many of Front-de-Boeuf’s men taken?” demanded 
the Black Knight. 

“None of note enough to be put to ransom,” answered 
the Captain; “a set of hilding fellows there were, whom we 
dismissed to find them a new master — enough had been 
done for revenge and profit; the bunch of them were not 
worth a cardecu.^ The prisoner I speak of is better booty — a 
jolly monk riding to visit his leman,^ an I may judge by 
his horse-gear and wearing apparel. — Here cometh the 
worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.”^ And, between two yeo- 
men, was brought before the silvan throne of the outlaw 
Chief, our old friend. Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

WITH THE OUTLAWS. THE CAPTIVE ABBOT. ' THE RANSOMS. ISAAC 
AND HIS DAUGHTER. THE BLACK KNIGHT DEPARTS. 

The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited a 
whimsical mixture of offended pride, and deranged foppery 
and bodily terror. 

“Why, how now, my master?” said he, with a voice in 
which all three emotions were blended. “What order is this 
among ye ? Be ye Ttirks or Christians that handle a 
churchman? — Know ye what it is, manus imponere in 
servos Domini? Ye have plundered my mails — torn my cope 

* small French coin. ^ sweetheart. ® magpie. 


338 


IVANHOE. 


of curious cut lace, which might have served a cardinal! — 
Another in my place would have been at his excommunicabo 
vos; but I am placable, and if ye order forth my palfreys, 
release my brethren, and restore my mails, tell down with 
all speed an hundred crowns to be expended in masses at 
the high altar of Jorvaulx Abbey, and make your vow to 
eat no venison until next Pentecost,^ it may be you shall hear 
little more of this mad frolic.” 

^‘Holy Father,” said the chief Outlaw, ‘^it grieves me to 
think that you have met with such usage from any of my 
followers, as calls for your fatherly reprehension.” 

‘‘Usage!” echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild tone 
of the silvan leader; “it were usage fit for no hound of good 
race — much less for a Christian — far less for a priest — and 
least of all for the Prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. 
Here is a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a- 
Dale — nehulo quidam — who has menaced me with corporal 
punishment — nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four 
hundred crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure 
he hath already robbed me of — gold chains and gymmal rings^ 
to an unknown value; besides what is broken and spoiled 
among their rude hands, such as my pouncet-box® and silver 
crisping-tongs.” 

“It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated 
a man of your bearing,” replied the Captain. 

“It is true as the gospel of Saint Nicodemus,”^ said the 
Prior; “he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, 
that he would hang me up on the highest tree in the green- 
wood.” 

“Did he so in very deed? Nay, then, reverend father, 
I think you had better comply with his demands — for Allan- 
a-Dale is the very man to abide by his word when he has 
so pledged it.” 

“You do but jest with me,” said the astounded Prior, 
with a forced laugh; “and I love a good jest with all my 
heart. But, ha! ha! ha! when the mirth has lasted the 

1 Jewish festival occurring fifty (pen- 3 perfumed powder-box. 
tekoste, fiftieth) days after the Passover; * Nicodemus was a Pharisee and ruler 
the Christian feast of Whitsunday. Lev- of the Jews, whose secret visit to Jesus 
iticus xxiii: 9-21: Acts ii : 1. is recorded in John iii : 1-10. 

* interlocked or double rings. 


IVANHOE. 


339 


live-long night, it is time to be grave in the morning/’ 

‘‘And I am as grave as a father confessor,” replied the 
Outlaw; “you must pay a round ransom. Sir Prior, or your 
convent is likely to be called to a new election; for your 
place will know you no more.” 

“Are ye Christians,” said the Prior, “and hold this 
language to a churchman?” 

“Christians ! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among 
us to boot,” answered the Outlaw. “Let our buxom chap- 
lain stand forth, and expound to this reverend father the texts 
which concern this matter.” ' 

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar’s 
frock over his green cassock, and now summoning together 
whatever scraps of learning he had acquired by rote in former 
days, “Holy father,” said he, ''Deus faciat salvam henignita- 
tern vestram — You are welcome to the greenwood.” 

“What profane mummery is this ?” said the Prior, 
“Friend, if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a better 
deed to show me how I may escape from these men’s hands, 
than to stand ducking and grinning here like a morris- 
dancer.”^ 

“Truly, reverend father,” said the Friar, “I know but 
one mode in which thou mayst escape. This is Saint 
Andrew’s day with us, we are taking our tithes.” 

“But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother?” 
said the Prior. 

“Of church and lay,” said the Friar; “and therefore, Sir 
Prior, facite vohis amicos de Mammone iniquitatis — make 
yourselves friends of the Mammon of unrighteousness, for 
no other friendship is like to serve your turn.” 

“I love a jolly woodsman at heart,” said the Prior, soften- 
ing his tone; “come, ye must not deal too hard with me — 
I can welP of woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear and 
lustily, and hollo till every oak rings again. — Come, ye 
must not deal too hard with me.” 

“Give him a horn,” said the Outlaw; “we will prove the 
skill he boasts of.” 

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The 
Captain shook his head. 

* dancer in fantastic dances at pageants and shows. * know well. 


340 


IVANHOE. 


“Sir Prior/’ he said, “thou blowest a merry note, but it 
may not ransom thee — we cannot afford, as the legend on 
a good knight’s shield hath it, to set thee free for a blast. 
Moreover, I have found thee — thou art one of those, who, 
with new French graces and Tra-li-ras, disturb the ancient 
English bugle notes. — Prior, that last flourish on the recheat 
hath added fifty crowns to thy ransom, for corrupting the 
true old manly blasts of venerie.”^ 

“Well, friend,” said the Abbot peevishly, “thou art ill to 
please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more conform- 
able in this matter of my ransom. At a word — since I 
must needs, for once, hold a candle to the devil — what ran- 
som am I to pay for walking on AVatling Street, without 
having fifty men at my back?” 

“Were it not well,” said the Lieutenant of the gang apart 
to the Captain,” that the Prior should name the Jew’s ran- 
som, and the J ew name the Prior’s ?” 

“Thou art a mad knave,” said the Captain, “but thy plan 
transcends!^ — Here, Jew, step forth. Look at that holy 
Father Aymer, Prior to the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx, and 
tells us at what ransom we should hold him? — Thou knowest 
the income of his convent, I warrant thee.” 

“0, assuredly,” said Isaac. “I have trafficked with the 
good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of 
the earth, and also much wool. 0, it is a rich abbey-stede,^ 
and they do live upon the fat, and drink the sweet wines 
upon the lees, these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an 
outcast like me had such a home to go to, and such incom- 
ings by the year and by the month, I would pay much gold 
and silver to redeem my captivity.” 

“Hound of a Jew!” exclaimed the Prior, “no one knows 
better than thy own cursed self, that our holy house of God 
is indebted for the finishing of our chancel — ” 

“And for the storing of your cellars in the last season 
.with the due allowance of Gascon wine,” interrupted the 
Jew; “but that — that is small matters.” 

“Hear the infidel dog !” said the churchman ! “he jangles 
as if our holy community did come under debts for the 


1 hunting. 2 ig surpassingly excellent. 3 abbey estate. See note “steads” p. 326. 


IVANHOE. 


341 


wines we have a license to drink, propter necessitatem, et 
ad frigus depellendum. The circumcised villain blasphemeth 
the holy church, and Christian men listen and rebuke him 
not !” 

^^All this helps nothing,’^ said the leader. — ^Tsaac, pro- 
nounce what he may pay, without flaying both hide and 
hair.” 

‘‘An six hundred crowns,” said Isaac, “the good Prior 
might well pay to your honoured valours,^ and never sit less 
soft in his stall.” 

. “Six hundred crowns,” said the leader, gravely; “I am 
contented — thou hast well spoken, Isaac — six hundred crowns 
— It is a sentence. Sir Prior.” 

“A sentence! — a sentence!” exclaimed the band; “Solo- 
mon had not done it better.” 

“Thou hearest thy doom. Prior,” said the leader. 

“Ye are mad, my masters,” said the Prior; “where am I 
to find such a sum ? If I sell the very pyx^ and candlesticks 
on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise the half; and 
it will be necessary for that purpose that I go to Jorvaulx 
myself; ye may retain as borrows^ my two priests.” 

“That will be but blind trust,” said the Outlaw; “we will 
retain thee. Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. 
Thou shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop of venison 
the while; and if thou lovest woodcraft, thou shalt see such 
as your north country never witnessed.” 

“Or, if so please you,” said Isaac, willing to curry favour 
with the outlaws, “I can send to York for the six hundred 
crowns, out of certain monies in my hands, if so be that 
the most reverend Prior present will grant me a quittance.” 

“He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,” said 
the Captain ; “and thou shalt lay down the redemption 
money for Prior Aymer as well as for thyself.” 

“For myself ! ah, courageous sirs,” said the Jew. “I am a 
broken and impoverished man; a beggar’s staff must be my 
portion through life, supposing I were to pay you fifty 
crowns.” 

* men of approved courage; an appel- for communion use. 

lation of respect. ® pledges; what is borrowed implies a 

* vessel for holding bread consecrated pledge for its return. 


342 


IVANHOE. 


^^The Prior shall judge of that matter/’ replied the Cap- 
tain — ^^How say you. Father Aymer? Can the Jew afford a 
good ransom?” 

*'Can he afford a ransom?” answered the Prior — ^^Is he 
not Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity of 
the ten tribes of Israel,^ who were led into Assyrian bondage ? 
— I have seen but little of him myself, but our cellarer and 
treasurer have dealt largely with him, and report says that his 
house at York is so full of gold and silver as is a shame in 
any Christian land. Marvel it is to all living Christian 
hearts that such gnawing adders should be suffered to eat 
into the bowels of the state, and even of the holy church 
herself, with foul usuries and extortions.” 

'^Hold, father,” said the Jew, ^^mitigate and assuage your 
choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that I force 
my monies upon no one. But when churchman and layman, 
prince and prior, knight and priest, come knocking to 
Isaac’s door, they borrow not his shekels with these uncivil 
terms. It is then. Friend Isaac, will you pleasure us in this 
matter, and our day shall be truly kept, so God sa’ me? — 
and Kind Isaac, if ever you served man, show yourself a 
friend in this need! And when the day comes, and I ask 
my own, then what hear I but Damned Jew, and The curse 
of Egypt on your tribe, and all that may stir up the rude 
and uncivil populace against poor strangers I” 

''Prior,” said the Captain, "Jew though he is, he hath 
in this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, 
as he named thine, without farther rude terms.” 

"None but latro famosus — the interpretation whereof,” 
said the Prior, "will I give at some other time and tide — 
would place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew 
upon the same bench. But since ye require me to put a 
price upon this caitiff, I tell you openly that ye will wrong 
yourselves if you take from him a penny under a thousand 
crowns.” 

"A sentence!— a sentence!” said the chief Outlaw. 

"A sentence ! — a sentence !” shouted his assessors ; "the 


* After the death of King David, ten 
of the twelve tribes of Israel revolted. 
The tribes of Judah and Benjamin were 
known as the Kingdom of Judah, and 


the remaining ten tribes constituted the 
Kingdom of Israel. Later the ten tribes 
of Israel were carried captive into 
Assyria. II. Kings xvii : 23. 


IVANHOE. 


343 


Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with us 
more generously than the Jew/^ 

^‘The God of my fathers help me!’’ said the Jew; ^‘will 
ye bear to the ground an impoverished creature? — I am this 
day childless, and will ye deprive me of the means of liveli- 
hood ?” 

^‘Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou art 
childless,” said Aymer. 

‘‘Alas! my lord,” said Isaac, “your law permits you not 
to know how the child of our bosom is entwined with the 
strings of our heart — 0 Eebecca! daughter of my beloved 
Eachel! were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, and each 
zecchin mine own, all that mass of wealth would I give to 
know whether thou art alive and escaped the hands of the 
Nazarene !” 

“Was not thy daughter dark-haired?” said one of the 
outlaws ; “and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal,^ 
broidered with silver?” 

“She did! — she did!” said the old man, trembling with 
eagerness, as formerly with fear. “The blessing of Jacob 
be upon thee ! canst thou tell me aught of her safety ?” 

“It was she, then,” said the yeoman, “who was carried 
off by the proud Templar, when he broke through our ranks 
on yester-even. I had drawn my bow to send a shaft after 
him, but spared him even for the sake of the damsel, who 
I feared might take harm from the arrow.” 

“Oh!” answered the Jew, “I would to God thou hadst 
shot, though the arrow had pierced her bosom! — Better the 
tomb of her fathers than the dishonourable couch of the 
licentious and savage Templar. Ichabod ! Ichabod !^ the glory 
hath departed from my house !” 

“Friends,” said the Chief, looking round, “the old man 
is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me. — Deal uprightly 
with us, Isaac — will paying this ransom of a thousand crowns 
leave thee altogether penniless?” 

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love 
of which, by dint of inveterate habit, contended even with 
his parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and could 
not deny there might be some small surplus. 

1 fine, thin, cloth from India. * I Samuel iv : 21. 


344 


IVANHOE. 


^^Well — go to — what though there be/’ said the Outlaw, 
^^We will not reckon with thee too closely. Without treasure 
thou mayst as well hope to redeem thy child from the 
clutches of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as to shoot a stag- 
royal with a headless shaft. — We will take thee at the same 
ransom with Prior Aymer, or rather at one hundred crowns 
lower, which hundred crowns shall be mine own peculiar 
loss, and not light upon this worshipful community; and 
so we shall avoid the heinous offence of rating a Jew mer- 
chant as high as a Christian prelate, and thou wilt have six 
hundred crowns remaining to treat for thy daughter’s ran- 
som. Templars love the glitter of silver shekels as well as 
the sparkle of black eyes. — Hasten to make thy crowns chink 
in the ear of De Bois-Guilbert, ere worse comes of it. Thou 
wilt find him, as our scouts have brought notice, at the 
next Preceptory house of his Order. — Said I well, my merry 
mates ?” 

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in their 
leader’s opinion; and Isaac, relieved of one-half of his 
apprehensions, by learning that his daughter lived, and 
might possibly be ransomed, threw himself at the feet of 
the generous Outlaw, and, rubbing his beard against his 
buskins, sought to kiss the hem of his green cassock. The 
Captain drew himself back, and extricated himself from 
the Jew’s grasp, not without some marks of contempt. 

^^Hay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee! I am English 
born, and love no such Eastern prostrations — Kneel to God, 
and not to a poor sinner, like me.” 

''Ay, Jew,” said Prior Aymer; "kneel to God, as repre- 
sented in the servant of his altar, and who knows, with thy 
sincere repentance and due gifts to the shrine of Saint 
Eobert, what grace thou mayst acquire for thyself and thy 
daughter Eebecca? I grieve for the maiden, for she is of 
fair and comely countenance— I beheld her in the lists of 
Ashby. Also Brian de Bois-Guilbert is one with whom I 
may do much bethink thee how thou mayst deserve my 
good word with him.” 

"Alas! alas!” said the Jew, "on every hand the spoilers 
arise against me — I am given as a prey unto the Assyrian, 
and a prey unto him of Egypt.” 


IVANHOE. 


345 


^^And what else should be the lot of thy accursed race?’^ 
answered the Prior ; ‘^for what saith holy writ, verbum 
Domini projecerunt, et sapientia est nulla in eis — they 
have cast forth the word of the Lord, and there is no wisdom 
in them; propterea dabo mulieres eorum exteris — 1 will give 
their women to strangers, that is to the Templar, as in the 
present matter; et thesauros eorum hoeredibus alienis, and 
their treasures to others — as in the present case to these 
honest gentlemen.” 

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, and 
to relapse into his state of desolation and despair. But 
the leader of the yeomen led him aside. 

“Advise thee well, Isaac,” said Locksley, “what thou wilt 
do in this matter; my counsel to thee is to make a friend 
of this churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is covetous; 
at least he needs money to supply his profusion. Thou 
canst easily gratify his greed; for think not that I am 
blinded by thy pretexts of poverty. I am intimately ac- 
quainted, Isaac, with the very iron chest in which thou dost 
keep thy money-bags. — What! know I not the great stone 
beneath the apple-tree, that leads into the vaulted chamber 
under thy garden at York?” The Jew grew as pale as 
death — “But fear nothing from me,” continued the yeoman, 
^Tor we are of old acquainted. Dost thou not remember the 
sick yeoman whom thy fair daughter Eebecca redeemed 
from the gyves at York, and kept him in thy house till his 
health was restored, when thou didst dismiss him recovered, 
and with a 'pi^ce of money? — Usurer as thou art, thou 
didst never place coin at better interest than that poor silver 
mark, for it has this day saved thee five hundred crowns.” 

“And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the-Bow ?” 
said Isaac; “I thought ever I knew the accent of thy voice.” 

“I am Bend-the-Bow,” said the Captain, “and Locksley, 
and have a good name besides all these.” 

“But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concerning 
that same vaulted apartment. So help me Heaven, as there 
is nought in it but some merchandises which I will gladly 
part with to you — one hundred yards of Lincoln green to , 
make doublets to thy men, and a hundred staves of Spanish 


246 


IVANHOE. 


yew to make bows, and one hundred silken bow strings, 
tough, round and sound — these will I send thee for thy good- 
will, honest Diccon, an thou wilt keep silence about the 
vault, my good Diccon/^ 

‘^Silent as a dormouse,"’ said the Outlaw; ^^and never 
trust me but I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may 
not help it. — The Templar’s lances are too strong for my 
archery in the open field — they would scatter us like dust. 
Had I but known it was Eebecca when she was borne off, 
something might have been done; but now thou must needs 
proceed by policy. Come, shall I treat for thee with the 
Prior ?” 

^Tn God’s name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to recover 
the child of my bosom !” 

^^Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed avarice,” 
said the Outlaw, ^^and I will deal with him in thy behalf.” 

He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, however, 
as closely as his shadow. 

^Trior Aymer,” said the Captain, ^^come apart with me 
under this tree. Men say thou dost love wine, and a lady’s 
smile, better than beseems thy Order, Sir Priest; but with 
that I have nought to do. I have heard, too, thou dost love 
a brace of good dogs and a fieet horse, and it may well be 
that, loving things which are costly to come by, thou hatest 
not a purse of gold. But I have never heard that thou didst 
love oppression or cruelty. — Now, here is Isaac willing to 
give thee the means of pleasure and pastime in a bag con- 
taining one hundred marks of silver, if thy intercession 
with thine ally the Templar shall avail to procure the free- 
dom of his daughter.” 

^Tn safety and honour, as when taken from me,” said the 
Jew, ^^otherwise it is no bargain.” 

‘Teace, Isaac,” said the Outlaw, ^^or I give up thine 
interest. — What say you to this my purpose. Prior Aymer?” 

^^The matter,” quoth the Prior, ‘fis of a mixed condition; 
for, if I do a good deed on the one hand, yet on the other, 
it goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so much is against 
my conscience. Yet, if the Israelite will advantage the 
Church by giving me somewhat over to the building of our 


IVANHOE. 


347 


dortour,^ I will take it on my conscience to aid him in the 
matter of his daughter.” 

‘^For a score of marks to the dortour,” said the Outlaw, 
— “Be still, I say, Isaac ! — or for a brace of silver candle- 
sticks to the altar, we will not stand with you.” 

“Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow — ” said Isaac, 
endeavouring to interpose. 

^^Good Jew — good beast — good earthworm!” said the yeo- 
man, losing patience; “an thou dost go on to put thy filthy 
lucre in the balance with thy daughter’s life and honour, by 
Heaven, I will strip thee of every maravedP thou hast in 
the world, before three days are out!” 

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent. 

“And what pledge am I to have for all this?” said the 
Prior. 

“When Isaac returns successful through your mediation,” 
said the Outlaw. “I swear by Saint Hubert, I will see that 
he pays thee the money in good silver, or I will reckon with 
him for it in such sort, he had better have paid twenty such 
sums.” 

“Well then, Jew,” said Aymer, “since I must needs med- 
dle in this matter, let me have the use of thy writing-tablets 
— though, hold — rather than use thy pen, I would fast for 
twenty-four hours, and where shall I find one?” 

“If your holy scruples can dispense with using the Jew’s 
tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,” said the yeoman; 
and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft at a wild-goose 
which was soaring over their heads, the advance guard of 
a phalanx of his tribe, which were winging their way to 
the distant and solitary fens of Holderness. The bird came 
fluttering down, transfixed with ‘the arrow. 

“There, Prior,” said the Captain, “are quills enow to 
supply all the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hundred 
years, an they take not to writing chronicles.” 

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indited an 
epistle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully 
sealed up the tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying, 
^^This will be thy safe-conduct to the Preceptory of Temple- 

* dormitory. strip him of everything, even to the 

* small Spanish coin worth less than smallest coin, 
a cent. Locksley tells Isaac he will 


348 


IVANHOE. 


stowe, and, as I think, is most likely to accomplish the 
■ delivery of thy daughter, if it be well backed up with proffers 
of advantage and commodity at thine own hand; for, trust 
me well, the good Knight Bois-Guilbert is of their confra- 
ternity that do nought for nought.” 

‘‘Well, Prior,” said the Outlaw, “I will detain thee no 
longer here than to give the Jew a quittance^ for the five 
hundred crowns at which thy ransom is fixed — I accept of 
him for my pay-master; and if I hear that ye boggle^ at 
allowing him in his accompts the sum so paid by him. Saint 
Mary refuse me, an I burn not the abbey over thine head 
though I hang ten years the sooner !” 

With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had 
penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an 
acquittance, discharging Isaac of York of five hundred 
crowns advanced to him in his need for acquittal of his 
ransom, and faithfully promising to hold true compt® with 
him for that sum. 

“And now,” said Prior Aymer, “I will pray you of resti- 
tution of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of the 
reverend brethren attending upon me, and also of the gym- 
mal rings, jewels, and fair vestures, of which I have been 
despoiled, having now satisfied you for my ransom as a true 
prisoner.” 

“Touching your brethren. Sir Prior,” said Locksley, 
“they shall have present freedom, it were unjust to detain 
them; touching your horses and mules, they shall also be 
restored, with such spending-money as may enable you to 
reach York, for it were cruel to deprive you of the means 
of journeying. — But as concerning rings, jewels, chains, 
and what else, you must understand that we are men of 
tender consciences, and will not yield to a venerable man 
like yourself, who should be dead to the vanities of this 
life, the strong temptation to break the rule of his founda- 
tion, by wearing rings, chains, or other vain gauds.”^ 

“Think what you do, my masters,” said the Prior, “ere 
you put your hand on the Church’s patrimony. These 
things are inter res sacras, and I wot not what judgment 

* release, as from a debt or obligation. ^ account, reckoning. 

* hesitate, hold back. ^ trinkets. 


IVANHOE. 


349 


might ensue were they to be handled by laical hands/^ 

‘‘I will take care of that, reverend Prior/’ said the hermit 
of Copmanhurst; ‘^for I will wear them myself.” 

'^Friend, or brother/’ said the Prior, in answer to this 
solution of his doubts, ^hf thou hast really taken religious 
orders, I pray thee to look how thou wilt answer to thine 
official for the share thou hast taken in this day’s work.” 

‘‘Friend Prior,” returned the hermit, “you are to know 
that I belong to a little diocese, where I am my own dio- 
cesan,^ and care as little for the Bishop of York as I do for 
the Abbot of Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the convent.” 

“Thou art utterly irregular,” said the Prior ; “one of those 
disorderly men, who, taking on them the sacred character 
without due cause, profane the holy rites, and endanger the 
souls of those who take counsel at their hands; lapides pro 
pane condonantes iis, giving them stones instead of bread, 
as the Vulgate^ hath it.” 

“Nay,” said, the Friar, “an my brain-pan® could have 
been broken by Latin, it had not held so long together. — 
I say, that easing a world of such mis-proud^ priests as thou 
art of their jewels and their gimcracks, is a lawful spoiling 
of the Egyptians.”® 

“Thou be’st a hedge-priest,” said the Prior, in great 
wrath, ''excommunicabo vos” 

“Thou be’st thyself more like a thief and a heretic,” said 
the Friar, equally indignant. “I will pouch up no such 
aifront before my parishioners, as thou thinkest it not 
shame to put upon me, although I be a reverend brother 
to thee. Ossa ejus perfringam, I will break your bones, as 
the Vulgate hath it.” 

“Hola!” cried the Captain, “come the reverend brethren 
to such terms? — Keep thine assurance of peace. Friar. — 
Prior, an thou hast not made thy peace perfect with God, 


» (di-os'e-san) bishop having author- 
ity in a diocese. 

2 Vulgate Bible, a Latin version of the 
Bible, prepared by Jerome about the 
close of the fourth century. It came 
into general use between the sixth and 
ninth centuries. All the copies were in 
manuscript, made at great cost, and 
rarely could one be found except in 
churches, monasteries and university 


libraries. The Vulgate Bible was the 
first book printed from movable type, 
about 1455, in Germany. At the time of 
the Ivanhoe story the yulgate Bible 
was the one known to priests and edu- 
cated persons. 

2 if my skull. 

* wrongly proud, having no good rea- 
son for being proud. 

6 Exodus xii : 35, 36. 


350 


IVANHOE. 


provoke the Friar no further. — Hermit, let the reverend 
father depart in peace, as a ransomed man.’^ 

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who continued 
to raise their voices, vituperating each other in bad Latin, 
which the Prior delivered the more fluently, and the Her- 
mit with the greater vehemence. The Prior at length 
recollected himself sufficiently to be aware that he was 
compromising his dignity, by squabbling with such a hedge- 
priest as the Outlaw’s chaplain, and being joined by his 
attendants, rode off with considerably less pomp, and in a 
much more apostolical condition, so far as worldly matters 
were concerned, then he had exhibited before his 
rencounter. 

It remained that the Jew should produce some security 
for the ransom which he was to pay on the Prior’s account, 
as well as upon his own. He gave, accordingly, an order 
sealed with his signet, to a brother of his tribe at York, 
requiring him to pay to the bearer the sum of a thousand 
crowns, and to deliver certain merchandises specified in the 
note. 

‘‘My brother Sheva,” he said, groaning deeply, “hath the 
key of my warehouses.” 

“And of the vaulted chamber,” whispered Locksley. 

“No, no — may Heaven forefend!” said Isaac; “evil is 
the hour that let any one whomsoever into that secret!” 

“It is safe with me,” said the Outlaw, “so be that this 
thy scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set down. 
— But what now, Isaac? art dead? art stupefied? hath the 
payment of a thousand crowns put thy daughter’s peril out 
of thy mind?” 

^Phe Jew- started to his feet — “No, Diccon, no — I will 
presently set forth. — Farewell, thou whom I may not call 
good, and dare not and will not call evil.” 

Yet ere Isaac departed, the Outlaw Chief bestowed on 
him this parting advice: — “Be liberal of thine offers, Isaac, 
and spare not thy purse for thy daughter’s safety. Credit 
me, that the gold thou shalt spare in her cause, will here- 
after give thee as much agony as if it were poured molten 
down thy throat.” 

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on his 


IVANHOE. 


351 


journey, accompanied by two tall foresters, who were to be 
his guides, and at the same time his guards, through the 
wood. 

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small interest 
these various proceedings, now took his leave of the Outlaw 
in turn; nor could he avoid expressing his surprise at hav- 
ing witnessed so much of civil policy amongst persons cast 
out from all the ordinary protection and influence of the 
laws. 

“Good fruit. Sir Knight,’’ said the yeoman, “will some- 
times grow on a sorry tree; and evil times are not always 
productive of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst those who 
are drawn into this lawless state, there are, doubtless, num- 
bers who wish to exercise its license with some moderation, 
and some who regret, it may be, that they are obliged to 
follow such a trade at all.” 

“And to one of those,” said the Knight, “I am now, I 
presume, speaking.” 

“Sir Knight,” said the Outlaw, “we have each our secret. 
You are welcome to form your judgment of me, and I may 
use my conjectures touching you, though neither of our 
shafts may hit the mark they are shot at. But as I do not 
pray to be admitted into your mystery, be not offended that 
I preserve my own.” 

“I crave pardon, brave Outlaw,” said the Knight, “your 
reproof is just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter with 
less of concealment on either side. — Meanwhile we part 
friends, do we not?” 

“There is my hand upon it,” said Locksley; “and I will 
call it the hand of a true Englishman, though an outlaw 
for the present.” 

“And there is mine in return,” said the Knight, “and I 
hold it honoured by being clasped with yours. For he that 
does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves 
praise not only for the good which he performs, but for 
the evil which he forbears. Fare thee well, gallant Out- 
law !” 

Thus parted that fair fellowship; and He of the Fetter- 
lock, mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode off through 
the forest. 


352 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEE XXXIV 

PRINCE JOHN AND FITZURSE AT YORK. DE BRACY. 

There was brave feasting in the Castle of York to which 
Prince John had invited those nobles, prelates, and leaders, 
by whose assistance he hoped to carry through his ambitious 
projects upon his brothers throne. Waldemar Fitzurse, his 
able and politic agent, was at secret work among them, 
tempering all to that pitch of courage which was necessary 
in making an open declaration of their purpose. But their 
enterprise was delayed by the absence of more than one 
main limb of the confederacy. The stubborn and daring, 
though brutal courage of Front-de-Boeuf ; the buoyant 
spirits and bold bearing of De Bracy; the sagacity, martial 
experience, and renowned valour of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
were important to the success of their conspiracy; and, while 
cursing in secret their unnecessary and unmeaning absence, 
neither John nor his adviser dared to proceed without them. 
Isaac the Jew also seemed to have vanished, and with him 
the hope of certain sums of money, making up the subsidy 
for which Prince John had contracted with that Israelite 
and his brethren. This deficiency was likely to prove perilous 
in an emergency so critical. 

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, that 
a confused report began to spread abroad in the city of 
York, that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their con- 
federate Front-de-Boeuf, had been taken or slain. Walde- 
mar brought the rumour to Prince John, announcing, that 
he feared its truth the more that they had set out with a 
small attendance, for the purpose of committing an assault 
on the Saxon Cedric and his attendants. At another time 
the Prince would have treated this deed of violence as a 
good jest; but now, that it interfered with and impeded his 
own plans, he exclaimed against the perpetrators, and spoke 
of the broken laws, and the infringement of public order 
and of private property, in a tone which might have become 
King Alfred. 

^^The unprincipled marauders,’^ he said — ^Vere I ever to 


IVANHOE. 


353 


become monarch of England, I would hang such trans- 
gressors over the drawbridges of their own castles.’’ 

‘^But to become monarch of England,” said his Ahitho- 
pheB coolly, ^ht is necessary not only that your Grace should 
endure the transgressions of these unprincipled marauders, 
but that you should afford them your protection, notwith- 
standing your laudable zeal for the laws they are in the 
habit of infringing. We shall be finely helped, if the churl 
Saxons should have realised your Grace’s vision, of convert- 
ing feudal drawbridges into gibbets; and yonder bold- 
spirited Cedric seemeth one to whom such an imagination 
might occur. Your Grace is well aware, it will be dangerous 
to stir without Eront-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar; 
and yet we have gone too far to recede with safety.” 

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and 
then began to stride up and down the apartment. 

“The villains,” he said, “the base treacherous villains, to 
desert me at this pinch !” 

“Nay, say rather the feather-pated giddy madmen,” said 
Waldemar, “who must be toying with follies when such 
business was in hand.” 

“What is to be done?” said the Prince, stopping short 
before Waldemar. 

“I know nothing which can be done,” answered his 
counsellor, “save that which I have already taken order for. 
— I come not to bewail this evil chance with your Grace, 
until I had done my best to remedy it.” 

“Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,” said the 
Prince ; “and when I have such a chancellor to advise withal, 
the reign of John will be renowned in our annals. — What 
hast thou commanded?” 

“I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s lieuten- 
ant, to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to display his 
banner, and . to set presently forth towards the castle of 
Front-de-Boeuf, to do what yet may be done for the succour 
of our friends.” 

Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt child, 
who has undergone what it conceives to be an insult. 

1 counselor to King David at the time of Absalom’s conspiracy. II. Samuel xv: 
12, and xvii: 23. 


354 


IVANHOE. 


the face of God!” he said, ''Waldemar Fitzurse, 
much hast thou taken upon thee! and over malapert thou 
wert to cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be raised, in 
a town where ourselves were in presence, without our express 
command.” 

“I crave your Grace’s pardon,” said Fitzurse, internally 
cursing the idle vanity of his patron ; ‘Hbut when time 
pressed, and even the loss of minutes might be fatal, I 
judged it best to take this much burden upon me, in a 
matter of such importance to your Grace’s interest.” 

‘^Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,” said the Prince, gravely; 
‘^thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rashness. — But 
whom have we here ? — De Bracy himself, by the rood ! — and 
in strange guise doth he come before us.” 

It was indeed De Bracy — ^^bloody with spurring, hery 
red with speed.” His armour bore all the marks of the 
late obstinate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained with 
blood in many places, and covered with clay and dust from 
the crest to the spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it on 
the table, and stood a moment as if to collect himself before 
he told his news. 

/^De Bracy,” said Prince John, ^Vhat means this? — 
Speak, I charge thee! — Are the Saxons in rebellion?” 

“Speak, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, almost in the same 
moment with his master, “thou wert wont to be a man. — 
Where is the Templar? — where is Front-de-Boeuf ?” 

“The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy; “Front-de-Boeuf 
you will never see more. He has found a red grave among 
the blazing rafters of his own castle, and I alone am escaped 
to tell you.” 

“Cold news,” said Waldemar, “to us, though you speak of 
fire and conflagration.” 

“The worst news is not yet said,” answered De Bracy; 
and, coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and 
emphatic tone — “Eichard is in England — I have seen and 
spoken with him.” 

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the back 
of an oaken bench to support himself — ^much like to a man 
who receives an arrow in his bosom. 


IVANHOE. 


355 


^^Thou ravest, De Bracy/^ said Fitzurse ; cannot be.” 
is as true as truth itself,” said De Bracy; “I was his 
prisoner, and spoke with him.” 

‘‘With Eichard Plantagenet, sayest thou?” continued Fitz- 
urse. 

“With Eichard Plantagenet,” replied De Bracy, “with 
Eichard Coeur-de-Lion — with Eichard of England.” 

“And thou wert his prisoner?” said Waldemar; “he is 
then at the head of a power?” 

“No — only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, and 
to these his person is unknown. I heard him say he was 
about to depart from them. He joined them only to assist 
at the storming of Torquilstone.” 

“Ay,” said Fitzurse, “such is indeed the fashion of Eich- 
ard — a true knight-errant he, and will wander in wild 
adventure, trusting the prowess of his single arm, like any • 
Sir Guy or Sir Bevis,^ while the weighty affairs of his king- 
dom slumber, and his own safety is endangered. — What 
dost thou propose to do, De Bracy?” 

“I? — I offered Eichard the service of my Free Lances, 
and he refused them — I will lead them to Hull,^ seize on 
shipping, and embark for Flanders; thanks to the bustling 
times, a man of action will always find employment. And 
thou, Waldemar, wilt thou take lance and shield, and lay 
down thy policies, and wend along with me, and share the 
fate which God sends us?” 

“I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,” answered 
Waldemar. 

“Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as fits 
her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,” said De Bracy. 

“Not so,” answered Fitzurse; “I will take sanctuary® in 
this church of Saint Peter — the Archbishop is my sworn 
brother.” 

During this discourse. Prince John had gradually awak- 


* One, the hero of a famous English 
legend of the time of the Saxon King 
Athelstane; the other, a knight of ro- 
mance. 

2 a city on the Humber, not very far 
east of York. (See majj.) 

» If criminals remained in certain 
sacred places to which they fled for 


refuge, they were free from arrest and 
punishment. Certain churches were 
designated as such asylums in England 
in medieval times. In some parish 
churches there was a stone seat beside 
the altar for those fleeing to the peace 
of the churches. This was the right of 
sanctuary. 


356 


IVANHOE. 


ened from the stupor into which he had been thrown by 
the unexpected intelligence, and had been attentive to the 
conversation which passed betwixt his followers. ^^They fall 
off from me,’' he said to himself, ''they hold no more by me 
than a withered leaf by the bough when a breeze blows on 
it! — Hell and fiends! can I shape no means for myself 
when I am deserted by these cravens?” — He paused, and 
there was an expression of diabolical passion in the con- 
strained laugh with which he at length broke in on their 
conversation. 

"Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady’s 
brow, I held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted men; yet 
ye throw down wealth, honour, pleasure, all that our noble 
game promised you, at the moment it might be won by one 
bold cast!” 

"I understand you not,” said De Bracy. "As soon as 
Kichard’s return is blown abroad, he will be at the head of 
an army, and all is then over with us. I would counsel you, 
my lord, either to fly to France or take the protection of 
the Queen Mother.”^ 

"I seek no safety for myself,” said Prince John, haugh- 
tily ; "that I could secure by a word spoken to my 
brother. But although you, De Bracy, and you, Waldemar 
Fitzurse, are so ready to abandon me, I should not greatly 
delight to see your heads blackening on Clifford’s gate yon- 
der. Thinkest thou, Waldemar, that the wily Archbishop 
will not suffer thee to be taken from the very horns of the 
altar, would it make his peace with King Eichard? And 
forgettest thou, De Bracy, that Eobert Bstoteville lies 
betwixt thee and Hull with all his forces, and that the Earl 
of Essex is gathering his followers? If we had reason to 
fear these levies even before Eichard’s return, trowest thou 
there is any doubt now which party their leaders will take? 
Trust me, Estoteville alone has strength enough to drive 
all thy Free Lances into the Humber.” — Waldemar Fitzurse 
and De Bracy looked in each other’s faces with blank dis- 
may. — "There is but one road to safety,” continued the 
Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight; "this object 
of our terror journeys alone. He must be met withal.” 

^ E'eanor of Aquitane (1122-1204), mother of Philip, King of France. 


IVANHOE. 


357 


“Not by me/^ said De Bracy, hastily ; “I was his prisoner, and 
he took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather in his crest.” 

“Who spoke of harming him?” said Prince. John with a 
hardened langh; “the knave will say next that I meant he 
shohld slay him! — No — a prison were better; and whether 
in Britain or Austria, what matters it? — Things will be but 
as they were when we commenced our enterprise. — It was 
founded on the hope that Eichard would remain a captive 
in Germany. Our uncle Eobert lived and died in the castle 
of Cardiffe.” 

“Ay, but,” said Waldemar, “your sire Henry sate more 
firm in his seat than your Grace can. I say the best prison 
is that which is made hy the sexton — no dungeon like a 
church vault! I have said my say.” 

“Prison or tomb,” said De Bracy, “I wash my hands of 
the whole matter.” 

“Villain!” said Prince John, “thou wouldst not bewray^ 
our counsel ?” 

“Counsel was never bewrayed by me,” said De Bracy, 
haughtily, “nor must the name of villain be coupled with 
mine !” 

“Peace, Sir Knight !” said Waldemar ; “and you, good my 
lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy; I trust I shall 
soon remove them.” 

“That passes your eloquence, Pitzurse,” replied the 
Ejnight. 

“Why, good Sir Maurice,” rejoined the wily politician, 
“start not aside like a scared steed, without, at least, con- 
sidering the object of your terror. — This Eichard — but a 
day since, and it would have been thy dearest wish to have 
met him hand to hand in the ranks of battle — a hundred 
times I have heard thee wish it.” 

“Ay,” said De Bracy, “but that was as thou sayest, hand 
to hand, and in the ranks of battle ! Thou never heardest 
me breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, and in a 
forest.” 

“Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it,” said 
Waldemar. “Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac^ and Sir 

* disclose, betray. the fables relating to King Arthiir and 

2 Lancelot of the Lake, celebrated in the Round Table. 


3'58 


IVANHOE. 


Tristram won renown? or was it not by encountering gigan- 
tic knights under the shade of deep and unknown forests?’^ 

‘^Ay, but I promise you/^ said De Bracy, ‘That neither 
Tristram nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to 
hand, for Eichard Plantagenet, and I think it was not their 
wont to take odds against a single man/^ 

“Thou art mad, De Bracy — what is it we propose to thee, 
a hired and retained captain of Free Companions, whose 
swords are purchased for Prince John’s service? Thou art 
apprised of our enemy, and then thou scruplest, though thy 
patron’s fortunes, those of thy comrades, thine own, and 
the life and honour of every one amongst us, be at stake !” 

“I tell you,” said De Bracy, sullenly, “that he gave me 
my life. True, he sent me from his presence, and refused 
my homage — so far I owe him neither favour nor allegiance 
— ^but I will not lift hand against him.” 

“It needs not — send Louis Winkebrand and a score of thy 
lances.” 

“Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,” said De Bracy; 
“not one of mine shall budge on such an errand.” 

“Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?” said Prince John; 
“and wilt thou forsake me, after so many protestations of 
zeal for my service?” 

“I mean it not,” said De Bracy; “I will abide by you in 
aught that becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in the 
camp; but this highway practice comes not within my vow.” 

“Come hither, Waldemar,” said Prince John. “An un- 
happy prince am I. My father. King Henry, had faithful 
servants — ^he had but to say that he was plagued with a 
factious priest, and the blood of Thomas a Becket, saint 
though he was, stained the steps of his own altar. — Tracy, 
Morville, Brito,^ loyal and daring subjects, your names, your 
spirit, are extinct ! and although Eeginald Fitzurse hath left 
a son, he hath fallen off from his father’s fidelity and 
courage.” 

“He has fallen off from neither,” said Waldemar Fitzurse; 
“and since it may not better be, I will take on me the con- 
duct of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, however, did my 

> These three men, with Reginald Fitzurse, father of Waldemar, were the slayers 
of Becket. (See note p. 133) 


IVANHOE. 


359 


father purchase the praise of a zealous friend; and yet did 
his proof of loyalty to Henry fall far short of what I am 
about to afford; for rather would I assail a whole calendar 
of saints, than put spear in rest against Coeur-de-Lion. — 
De Bracy, to thee I must trust to keep up the spirits of the 
doubtful and to guard Prince JoWs person. If you 
receive such news as I trust to send you, our enterprise will 
no longer wear a doubtful aspect. — Page,^^ he said, ^^hie to 
my lodgings, and tell my armourer to be there in readiness; 
and bid Stephen, Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, and the Three 
Spears of Spyinghow, come to me instantly ; and let the scout- 
master, Hugh Bardon, attend me also. — Adieu, my Prince, 
till better times.” Thus speaking, he left the apartment. 

^^He goes to make my brother prisoner,” said Prince John 
to He Bracy, “with as little touch of compunction, as if it 
but concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I trust he 
will observe our orders, and use our dear Richard’s person 
with all due respect.” 

He Bracy only answered by a smile. 

“By the light of Our Lady’s brow,” said Prince John, 
“our orders to him were most precise — though it may be you 
heard them not, as we stood together in the oriel window — 
most clear and positive was our charge that Richard’s safety 
should be cared for, and woe to Waldemar’s head if he 
transgress it!” 

“I had better pass to his lodgings,” said He Bracy, “and 
make him fully aware of your Grace’s pleasure; for, as it 
quite escaped my ear, it may not perchance have reached 
that of Waldemar.” 

“Nay, nay,” said Prince John, impatiently, “I promise 
thee he heard me ; and, besides, I have farther occupation for 
thee. Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy shoulder.” 

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar 
posture, and Prince John, with an air of the most confiden- 
tial intimacy, proceeded to say, “What thinkest thou of this 
Waldemar Fitzurse, my He Bracy? — He trusts to be our' 
Chancellor. Surely we will pause ere we give an office so 
high to one who shows evidently how little he reverences 
our blood, by his so readily undertaking this enterprise 
against Richard. Thou dost think, I warrant, that thou 


260 


IVANH03S. 


hast lost somewhat of our regard, by thy boldly declining 
this unpleasing task. But no, Maurice! I rather honour 
thee for thy virtuous constancy. There are things most 
necessary to be done, the perpetrator of which we neither 
love nor honour; and there may be refusals to serve us, which 
shall rather exalt in our estimation those who deny our 
request. The arrest of my unfortunate brother forms no 
such good title to the high office of Chancellor, as thy 
chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in thee to the 
truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, and 
begone to thy charge.” 

^^Fickle tyrant!” muttered De Bracy, as he left the pres- 
ence of the Prince; ^^evil luck have they who trust thee. 
Thy Chancellor, indeed! — He who hath the keeping of thy 
conscience shall have an easy charge, I trow. But High 
Marshal of England! that,” he said, extending his arm, as 
if to grasp the baton of office, and assuming a loftier stride 
along the antechamber, ^That is indeed a prize worth playing 
for !” 

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince 
John summoned an attendant. 

^‘^Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master,^ come hither, as 
soon as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.” 

The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during which 
John traversed the apartment with unequal and disordered 
steps. 

‘^Bardon,” said he, ^Vhat did Waldemar desire of thee?” 

^^Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern 
wilds, and skilful in tracking the tread of man and horse.” 

^^And thou hast fitted him ?” 

^^Let your Grace never trust me else,” answered the master 
of the spies. ^^One is from Hexamshire ; he is wont to trace 
the Tynedale and Teviotdale thieves, as a bloodhound fol- 
lows the slot of a hurt deer. The other is Yorkshire bred, 
and has twanged his bowstring right oft in merry Sherwood; 
he knows each glade and dingle, copse and high-wood, betwixt 
this and Eichmond.” 

’Tis well,” said the Prince. — ^^Goes Waldemar forth with 
them ?” 

“Instantly,” said Bardon. 


IVANHOE. 


361 


‘^With what attendance?” asked John, carelessly. 

''Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom they 
call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steel-heart; and three northern 
men-at-arms that belonged to Ealph Middleton’s gang — they 
are called the Spears of Spyinghow.” 

"’Tis well,” said Prince John; then added, after a 
moment’s pause, "Bardon, it imports our service that thou 
keep a strict watch on Maurice de Bracy — so that he shall 
not observe it, however. And let us know of his motions 
from time to time — with whom he converses, what he pro- 
poseth. Fail not in this, as thou wilt be answerable.” 

Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired. 

"If Maurice betrays me,” said Prince John — "if he be- 
trays me, as his bearing leads me to fear, I will have his 
head, were Eichard thundering at the gates of York.” 


CHAPTEE XXXV 

ISAAC GOES TO TEMPLESTOWE. BEAUMANOIR. AYMER’S LETTER TO 
THE TEMPLAR IS READ BY THE GRAND MASTER. 

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York. Mounted upon 
a mule, the gift of the Outlaw, with two tall yeomen to 
act as his . guard and guides, the Jew had set out for the 
Preceptory of Templestowe, for the purpose of negotiating 
his daughter’s redemption. The Preceptory was but a day’s 
journey from the demolished castle of Torquilstone, and 
the Jew had hoped to reach it before nightfall; accordingly, 
having dismissed his guides at the verge of the forest, and 
rewarded them with a piece of silver, he began to press on 
with such speed as his weariness permitted him to exert. 
But his strength failed him totally ere he had reached within 
four miles of the Temple-Court; racking pains shot along 
his back and through his limbs, and the excessive anguish 
which he felt at heart being now augmented by bodily suf- 
fering, he was rendered altogether incapable of proceeding 
farther than a small market-town, where dwelt a Jewish 
Eabbi of his tribe, eminent in the medical profession, and 
to whom Isaac was well known. Nathan Ben Israel received 


362 


IVANHOE. 


his suffering countryman with that kindness which the law 
prescribed, and which the Jews practised to each other. He 
insisted on his betaking himself to repose, and used such 
remedies as were then in most repute to check the progress 
of the fever, which terror, fatigue, ill-usage, and sorrow 
had brought upon the poor old Jew. 

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and pursue 
his journey, Nathan remonstrated against his purpose, both 
as his host and as his physican. It might cost him, he said, 
his life. But Isaac replied, that more than life and death 
depended upon his going that morning to Templestowe. 

“To Templestowe said his host with surprise ; again felt 
his pulse, and then muttered to himself, “His fever is abated, 
yet seems his mind somewhat alienated and disturbed.^^ 

“And why not to Templestowe?’^ answered his patient. 
“I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of those to 
whom the despised Children of the Promise are a stumbling- 
block and an abomination; yet thou knowest that pressing 
affairs of traffic sometimes carry us among these bloodthirsty 
Nazarene soldiers, and that we visit the Preceptories of the 
Templars, as well as the Commanderies of the Knights 
Hospitallers, as they are called.” 

“I know it well,” said Nathan; %ut wottest thou that 
Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of their Order, and whom 
they term Grand Master, is now himself at Templestowe?” 

“I know it not,” said Isaac; “our last letters from our 
brethren at Paris advised us that he was at that city, be- 
seeching Philipp for aid against the Sultan Saladine.”^ 

“He hath since come to England, unexpected by his 
brethren,” said Ben Israel; “and he cometh among them 
with a strong and outstretched arm to correct and to punish. 
His countenance is kindled in anger against those who have 
departed from the vow which they have made, and great 
is the fear of those sons of Belial. Thou must have heard of 
his name?” 

“It is well known unto me,” said Isaac; “the Gentiles 
deliver this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slaying 
for every point of the Nazarene law; and our brethren have 

1 King of France. * Sultan of Egypt, famous in wars with the Crusaders in 
Palestine. 


IVANHOE. 


363 


termed him a fierce destroyer of the Saracens, and a cruel 
tyrant to the Children of the Promise.” 

'^And truly have they termed him,” said Nathan the 
physician. ^^Other Templars may be moved from the pur- 
pose of their heart by pleasure, or bribed by promise of gold 
and silver; but Beaumanoir is of a different stamp — ^hating 
sensuality, despising treasure, and pressing forward to that 
which they call the crown of martyrdom — The God of 
Jacob speedily send it unto him, and unto them all! 
Specially hath this proud man extended his glove over the 
children of Judah, as holy David over Edom,^ holding the 
murder of a Jew to be an offering of as sweet savour as the 
death of a Saracen. Impious and false things has he said 
even of the virtues of our medicines, as if they were the 
devices of Satan — The Lord rebuke him !” 

^^Nevertheless,” said Isaac. must present myself at 
Templestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a 
fiery furnace seven times heated.”^ 

He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his 
journey. The Eabbi listened with interest, and testified his 
sympathy after the fashion of his people, rending his 
clothes, and saying, ^^Ah, my daughter! — ah, my daughter! 
— Alas ! for the beauty of Zion ! — Alas I for the captivity 
of Israel !” 

“Thou seest,” said Isaac, “how it stands with me, and 
that I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of this 
Lucas Beaumanoir, being the chief man over them, may 
turn Brian de Bois-Guilbert from the ill which he doth 
meditate, and that he may deliver to me my beloved daughter 
Eebecca.” 

“Go thou,” said Nathan Ben Israel, “and be wise, for 
wisdom availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he 
was cast; and may it go well with thee, even as thine heart 
wisheth. Yet, if thou canst, keep thee from the presence 
of the Grand Master, for to do foul scorn to our people is 
his morning and evening delight. It may be if thou couldst 
speak with Bois-Guilbert in private, thou shalt the better 
prevail with him; for men say that these accursed Naz- 

iPsalm LX : 8, “Upon Edom will I cast my shoe.” 

2 Daniel iii : 19. 


264 


IVANHOE. 


arenes are not of one mind in the Preceptory — May their 
counsels be confounded and brought to shame ! But do 
thou, brother, return to me as if it were to the house of 
thy father, and bring me word how it has sped with thee; 
and well do I hope thou wilt bring with thee Kebecca, even 
the scholar of the wise Miriam, whose cures the Gentiles 
slandered as if they had been wrought by necromancy/^ 

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about an 
hour’s riding brought him before the Preceptory of Temple- 
stowe. 

This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst 
fair meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the former 
Preceptor had bestowed upon their Order. It was strong 
and well fortified, a point never neglected by these knights, 
and which the disordered state of England rendered pecu- 
liarly necessary. Two halberdiers, clad in black, guarded 
the drawbridge, and others, in the same sad livery, glided 
to and fro upon the walls with a funereal pace, resembling 
spectres more than soldiers. The inferior officers of the 
Order were thus dressed, ever since their use of white gar- 
ments, similar to those of the knights and esquires, had 
given rise to a combination of certain false brethren in the 
mountains of Palestine, terming themselves Templars, and 
bringing great dishonour on the Order. A knight was now 
and then seen to cross the court in his long white cloaks 
his head depressed on his breast, and his arms folded. They 
passed each other, if they chanced to meet, with a slow, 
solemn, and mute greeting; for such was the rule of their 
Order, quoting thereupon the holy texts, “In many words 
thou shalt not avoid sin,” and “Life and death are in the 
power of the tongue.” In a word, the stern ascetic rigour of 
the Temple discipline, which had been so long exchanged 
for prodigal and licentious indulgence, seemed at once to 
have revived at Templestowe under the severe eye of Lucas 
Beaumanoir. 

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek 
entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak favour; for 
he was well aware, that to his unhappy race the reviving 
fanaticism of the Order was not less dangerous than their 
unprincipled licentiousness; and that his religion would be 


IVANHOE. 


365 


the object of hate and persecution in the one case, as his 
wealth would have exposed him in the other to the extortions 
of unrelenting oppression. 

Meantime Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden 
belonging to the Preceptory, included within the precincts 
of its exterior fortification, and held sad and confidential 
communication with a brother of his Order, who had come 
in his company from Palestine. 

The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was 
testified by his long grey beard, and the shaggy grey eye- 
brows overhanging eyes, of which, however, years had been un- 
able to quench the fire. A formidable warrior, his thin and 
severe features retained the soldier’s fierceness of expres- 
sion; an ascetic bigot, they were no less marked by the 
emaciation of abstinence, and the spiritual pride of the self- 
satisfied devotee. Yet with these severer traits of physiog- 
nomy, there was mixed somewhat striking and noble, arising, 
doubtless, from the great part which his high office called 
upon him to act among monarchs and princes, and from the 
habitual exercise of supreme authority over the valiant and 
high-born knights, who were united by the rules of the 
Order. His stature was tall, and his gait, undepressed by 
age and toil, was erect and stately. His white mantle was 
shaped with severe regularity, according to the rule of Saint 
Bernard himself, being composed of what was then called 
Burrel cloth, exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, and 
bearing on the left shoulder the octangular cross peculiar 
to the Order, formed of red cloth. No vair^ or ermine^ 
decked this garment; but in respect of his age, the Grand 
Master, as permitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined 
and trimmed with the softest lambskin, dressed with the 
wool outwards, which was the nearest approach he could 
regularly make to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury 
of dress. In his hand he bore that singular abacus or staff 
of office, with which Templars are usually represented, hav- 
ing at the upper end a round plate, on which was engraved 
the cross of the Order, inscribed within a circle or orle, as 
heralds term it. His companion, who attended- on this great 
personage, had nearly the same dress in all respects, but 

^ a kind of fur. 


366 


IVANHOE. 


his extreme deference towards his Superior showed that no 
other equality subsisted between them. The Preceptor, 
for such he was in rank, walked not in a line with the Grand 
Master, but just so far behind that Beaumanoir could speak 
to him without turning round his head. 

‘‘Conrade,’' said the Grand Master, 'Mear companion of 
my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone can 
I confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, 
since I came to this kingdom, I have desired to be dissolved 
and to be with the just. Not one object in England hath 
met mine eye which it could rest upon with pleasure, save 
the tombs of our brethren, beneath the massive roof of our 
Temple Church^ in yonder proud capital. 0, valiant Eobert 
de Eos ! did I exclaim internally, as I gazed upon these good 
soldiers of the cross, where they lie sculptured on their sepul- 
chres, — 0, worthy William de Mareschal! open your marble 
cells, and take to your repose a weary brother, who would 
rather strive with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the 
decay of our Holy Order!’’ 

^Tt is but true,” answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet ; ^fit is 
but too true ; and the irregularities of our brethren in Eng- 
land are even more gross than those in France.” 

^^Because they are more wealthy,” answered the Grand 
Master. ‘‘Bear with me, brother, although I should some- 
thing vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, 
keeping each point of my Order, striving with devils em- 
bodied and disembodied, striking down the roaring lion, 
who goeth about seeking whom he may devour, like a good 
knight and devout priest, wheresoever I met with him — even 
as blessed Saint Bernard hath prescribed to us in the forty- 
fifth capitaP of our rule, Ut Leo semper feriatur} But by 
the Holy Temple the zeal which hath devoured my substance 
and my life, yea, the very nerves and marrow of my bones; 
by that very Holy Temple I swear to thee, that save thyself 
and some few that still retain the ancient severity of our 
Order, I look upon no brethren whom I can bring" my soul 


' church belonging to the Knights 
Templars in London. It contains, a- 
mong tombs of famous Templars, those 
of Robert de Ros, who died in 1227, and 
William de Mareschal, whodied in 1219, 
some years after the date of this story. 
2 chapter. 


* “In the ordinances of the Knights of 
the Temple, this phrase is repeated in a 
variety of forms and occurs in almost 
every chapter, as if it were the signal 
word of of the order” — Scott. See G los- 
sary, p. 486. 


IVANHOE. 


367 


to embrace under that holy name. What say our statutes, 
and how do our brethren observe them? They should wear 
no vain or worldly ornament, no crest upon their helmet, 
no gold upon stirrup or bridle-bit; yet who now go pranked 
out so proudly and so gaily as the poor soldiers of the Tem- 
ple? They are forbidden by our statutes to take one bird 
by means of another, to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, 
to halloo to a hunting-horn, or to spur the horse after game. 
But now, at hunting and hawking, and each idle sport of 
wood and river, who so prompt as the Templars in all these 
fond vanities? They are forbidden to read, save what their 
Superior permitted, or listen to what is read, save such holy 
things as may be recited aloud during the hours of refection ; 
but lo ! their ears are at the command of idle minstrels, and 
their eyes study empty romaunts. They were commanded 
to extirpate magic and heresy. Lo! they are charged with 
studying the accursed cabalistical secrets of the Jews, and 
the magic of the Paynim Saracens. Simpleness of diet was 
prescribed to them, roots, pottage, gruels, eating flesh but 
thrice a-week, because the accustomed feeding on flesh is 
a dishonourable corruption of the body; and behold, their 
tables groan under delicate fare! Their drink was to be 
water, and now, to drink like a Templar, is the boast of 
each jolly boon companion ! This very garden, filled as it 
is with curious herbs and trees sent from the Eastern climes, 
better becomes the harem of an unbelieving Emir, than the 
plot which Christian Monks should devote to raise their 
homely pot-herbs. — And 0, Conrade! well it were that the 
relaxation of discipline stopped even here ! Well thou 
knowest that we were forbidden to receive those devout 
women, who at the beginning were associated as sisters of 
our Order, because, saith the forty-sixth chapter, the Ancient 
Enemy hath, by female society, withdrawn many from the 
right path to paradise. Nay, in the last capital, being, as 
it were, the cope-stone which our blessed founder placed on 
the pure and undefiled doctrine which he had enjoined, .we 
are prohibited from offering, even to our sisters and our 
mothers, the kiss of affection — ut omnium mulierum fugian^ 
tur oscula . — I shame to speak — I shame to think — of the 
corruptions which have rushed in upon us even like a flood. 


368 


IVANHOE. 


The souls of our pure founders, the spirits of Hugh de 
Payen and Godfrey de Saint Omer, and of the blessed Seven 
who first joined in dedicating their lives to the service of 
the Temple, are disturbed even in the enjoyment of para- 
dise itself. I have seen them, Conrade, in the visions of 
the night — their sainted eyes shed tears for the sins and 
follies of their brethren, and for the foul and shameful 
luxury in which they wallow. Beaumanoir, they say, thou 
slumberest — awake! There is a stain in the fabric of the 
Temple, deep and foul as that left by the streaks of leprosy 
on the walls of the infected house of old.^ The soldiers of 
the Cross, who should shun the glance of a woman as the 
eye of a basilisk, live in open sin, not with the females of 
their own race only, but with the daughters of the accursed 
heathen, and more accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, thou steep- 
est; up, and avenge our cause! — Slay the sinners, male and 
female! Take to thee the brand of Phineas!^ The vision 
fled, Conrade, but as I awaked I could still hear the clank of 
their mail, and see the waving of their white mantles. — And 
I will do according to their word, I will purify the fabric 
of the Temple ! and the unclean stones in which the plague 
is, I will remove and cast out of the building.^^^ 

‘^Yet bethink thee, reverend father,’^ said Mont-Fitchet, 
^The stain hath become engrained by time and consuetude; 
let thy reformation be cautious, as it is just and wise.^^ 

^^No, Mont-Fitchet,” answered the stern old man — 
must be sharp and sudden — the Order is on the crisis of its 
fate. The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our predeces- 
sors, made us powerful friends — our presumption, our 
wealth, our luxury, have raised up against us mighty ene- 
mies. — We must cast away these riches, which are a tempta- 
tion to princes — we must lay down that presumption, which 
is an offence to them — we must reform that license of 
manners, which is a scandal to the whole Christian world ! 

Or — mark my words — the Order of the Temple will be 
utterly demolished — and the place thereof shall no more 
be known among the nations.” 

^^Now may God avert such a calamity !” said the Preceptor. 


* Leviticus xiv;37. 

* evidently refers to the Phinehas of 


Numbers xxv :vii. 

® Matthew iii: 12. 


IVANHOE. 


369 


^^Amen/’ said the Grand Master, with solemnity, ^^bnt 
we must deserve his aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that neither 
the powers in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, will longer 
endure the wickedness of this generation. My intelligence 
is sure — the ground on which our fabric is reared is already 
undermined, and each addition we make to the structure 
of our greatness will only sink it the sooner in the abyss. 
We must retrace our steps, and show ourselves the faith- 
ful Champions of the Cross, sacrificing to our calling, not 
alone our blood and our lives — not alone our lusts and our 
vices — ^but our ease, our comforts, and our natural affections, 
and act as men convinced that many a pleasure which may 
be lawful to others, is forbidden to the vowed soldier of the 
Temple.” 

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vest- 
ment (for -the aspirants after this holy Order wore during 
their novitiate the cast-off garments of the knights,) entered 
the garden, and, bowing profoundly before the Grand Master, 
stood silent, awaiting his permission ere he presumed to 
tell his errand. 

‘Ts it not more seemly,” said the Grand Master, ^To see 
this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian humility, 
thus appear with reverend silence before his Superior, than 
but two days since, when the fond fool was decked in a 
painted coat, and jangling as pert and as proud as any popin- 
jay? — Speak, Damian, we permit thee. What is thine 
errand ?” 

^^A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend 
father,” said the Squire, ‘Vho prays to speak with brother 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,” said the 
Grand Master; “in our presence a Preceptor is but as a 
common compeer of our Order, who may not walk according 
to his own will, but to that of his Master — even according 
to the text, Tn the hearing of the ear he hath obeyed me.^ 
— It imports us , especially to know of this Bois-GuilberPs 
proceedings,” said he, turning to his companion. 

“Eeport speaks him brave and valiant,” said Conrade. 

“And truly is he so spoken of,” said the Grand Master; 
“in our valour only we are not degenerated from our prede- 


370 


IVANHOE. 


cessors, the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian came 
into our Order, a moody and disappointed man, stirred, 1 
doubt me, to take our vows and to renounce the world, not 
in sincerity of soul, but as one whom some touch of light 
discontent, had driven into penitence. Since then, he hath 
become an active and earnest agitator, a murmurer, and a 
machinator, and a leader amongst those who impugn our 
authority; not considering that the rule is given to the 
Master even by the symbol of the staff and the rod — the 
staff to support the infirmities of the weak — the rod to 
correct the faults of delinquents. — Damian,” he continued, 
^dead the Jew to our presence.” 

• The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in a 
few minutes returned marshalling in Isaac of York. No 
naked slave, ushered into the presence of some mighty 
prince, could approach his judgment-seat with more pro- 
found reverence and terror than that with which the Jew 
drew near to the presence of the Grand Master. When he 
had approached within the distance of three yards, Beau- 
manoir made a sign with his staff that he should come no 
farther. The Jew kneeled down on the earth, which he 
kissed in token of reverence; then rising, stood before the 
Templars, his hands folded on his bosom, his head bowed 
on his breast, in all the submission of Oriental slavery. 

^^Damian,” said the Grand Master, ^Tetire, and have a 
guard ready to await our sudden call; and suffer no one 
to enter the garden until we shall leave it.” The squire 
bowed and retreated. “Jew,” continued the haughty old 
man, “mark me. It suits not our condition to hold with 
thee long communication, nor do we waste words or time 
upon any one. Wherefore be brief in thy answers to what 
questions I shall ask thee, and let thy words be of truth; 
for if thy tongue doubles with me, I will have it torn from 
thy misbelieving jaws.” 

The Jew was about to reply, but the Grand Master went 
on. 

“Peace, unbeliever ! — not a word in our presence, save in 
answer to our questions. What is thy business with our 
brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert ?” 

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his 


IVANHOE. 


371 


tale might be interpreted into scandalising the Order; yet, 
unless he told it, what hope could he have of achieving his 
daughter’s deliverance? Beaumanoir saw his mortal appre- 
hension, and condescended to give him some assurance. 

“Fear nothing,” he said, “for thy wretched person, Jew, so 
thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand again to 
know from thee thy business with Brian de Bois-Guilbert ?” 

“I am bearer of a letter,” stammered out the Jew, “so 
please your reverend valour, to that good knight, from 
Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.” 

^^Said I not these were evil times, Conrade?” said the 
Master. “A Cistercian Prior sends a letter to a soldier of 
the Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger than 
an unbelieving Jew. — Give me the letter.” 

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his 
Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s tab- 
lets for the greater secu];ity, and was about to approach, 
with hand extended and body crouched, to place it within 
the reach of his grim interrogator. 

“Back, dog!” said the Grand Master; “I touch not mis- 
believers, save with the sword. Conrade, take thou the letter 
from the Jew, and give it to me.” 

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, inspected 
the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo the pack- 
thread which secured its folds. “Eeverend father,” said Con- 
rade, interposing, though with much deference, “wilt thou 
break the seal?” 

“And will I not?” said Beaumanoir, with a frown. “Is 
it not written in the forty-second capital, De Lectione 
Literarum that a Templar shall not receive a letter, no not 
from his father, without communicating the same to the 
Grand Master, and reading it in his presence?” 

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression of 
surprise and horror; read it over again more slowly; then 
holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and slightly 
striking it with the other, exclaimed — “Here is goodly stuff 
for one Christian man to write to another, and both mem- 
bers, and no inconsiderable members, of religious profes- 
sions ! When,” said he solemnly, and looking upward, “wilt 
thou come with thy fanners to purge the thrashing-floor?”^ 




IVANHOE. 


Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his Superior, and was 
about to peruse it. ‘‘Bead it aloud, Conrade,^^ said the 
Grand Master, — ^^and do thou^^ (to Isaac) ^^attend to the 
purport of it, for we will question thee concerning it.” 

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words: ‘^Ay- 
mer, by divine grace, Prior of the Cistercian house of Saint 
Mary^s of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a ICnight 
of the holy Order of the Temple, wisheth health, with the 
bounties of King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. Touch- 
ing our present condition, dear Brother, we are a captive 
in the hands of certain lawless and godless men, who have 
not feared to detain our person, and put us to ransom; 
whereby we have also learned of Front-de-BoeuFs misfor- 
tune, and that thou hast escaped with that fair Jewish 
sorceress, whose black eyes have bewitched thee. We are 
heartily rejoiced of thy safety; nevertheless, we pray thee to 
be on thy guard in the matter of this second Witch of 
Endor for we are privately assured that your Great Master, 
who careth not a bean for cherry cheeks and black eyes, 
comes from Normandy to diminish your mirth, and amend 
your misdoings. Wherefore we pray you heartily to beware, 
and to be found watching, even as the Holy Text hath it, 
Invenientur vigilantes. And the wealthy Jew her father, 
Isaac of York, having prayed of me letters in his behalf, I 
gave him these, earnestly advising, and in a sort entreating 
that you do hold the damsel to ransom, seeing he will pay 
you from his bags as much as may find fifty damsels upon 
safer terms, whereof I trust to have my part when we make 
merry together, as true brothers, not forgetting the wine- 
cup. For what saith the text, Vinum laetificat cor hominisj 
and again, Bex delectahitur pulchritudine tua. 

“Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. Given 
from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins, 

“Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis. 

^^Postscriptum. Truly your golden chain hath not long 
abidden with me, and will now sustain, around the neck of 
an outlaw deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth on 
his hounds.” 


1 I. Samuel xxviii :7 . 


IVANHOE. 


373 


“What sayest thou to this, Conrade?’’ said the Grand 
Master. — “Den of thieves ! and a fit residence is a den of 
thieves for such a Prior. No wonder that the hand of God 
is upon us, and that in the Holy Land we lose place by 
place, foot by foot, before the infidels, when we have such 
churchmen as this Aymer. — And what meaneth he, I trow, 
by this second Witch of Endor?’^ said he to his confidant, 
something apart. 

Conrade was better acquainted (perhaps by practice) with 
the jargon of gallantry, than was his Superior; and he ex- 
pounded the passage which embarrassed the Grand Master, 
to be a sort of language used by worldly men towards those 
whom they loved par armours; but the explanation did not 
satisfy the bigoted Beaumanoir. 

“There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade; thy 
simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wickedness. 
This Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam of whom 
thou hast heard. Thou shalt hear the J ew own it even now.” 
Then turning to Isaac, he said aloud, “Thy daughter, then, 
is prisoner with Brian de Bois-Guilbert ?” 

“Ay, reverend valourous sir,” stammered poor Isaac, “and 
whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her deliverance — ” 

“Peace!” said the Grand Master. “This thy daughter 
hath practised the art of healing, hath she not ?” 

“Ay, gracious sir,” answered the Jew, with more confi- 
dence; “and knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may 
bless the goodly gift which Heaven hath assigned to her. 
Many a one can testify that she hath recovered them by her 
art, when every other human aid hath proved vain; but the 
blessing of the God of Jacob was upon her.” 

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim smile. 
"^^See, brother,” he said, “the deceptions of the devouring 
Enemy! Behold the baits with which he fishes for souls, 
giving a poor space of earthly life in exchange for eternal 
happiness hereafter. Well said our blessed rule. Semper 
percutiatur leo vorans . — Up on the lion! Down with the 
destroyer !” said he, shaking aloft his mystic abacus, as if 
in defiance of the powers of darkness. “Thy daughter 
worketh the cures, I doubt not,” thus he went on to address 


274 


IVANHOE. 


the Jew, words and sigils and periapts, and other 
cabalistieal mysteries/^ 

^^Nay, reverend and brave Knight, answered Isaac, ‘^ut 
in chief measure by a balsam of marvellous virtue.” 

‘‘Where had she that secret?” said Beaumanoir. 

“It was delivered to her,” answered Isaac, reluctantly, 
“by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.” 

“Ah, false Jew!” said the Grand Master; “was it not 
from that same witch Miriam, the abomination of whose 
enchantments have been heard of throughout every Chris- 
tian land?” exclaimed the Grand Master, crossing himself. 
“Her body was burnt at a stake, and her ashes were scattered 
to the four winds; and so be it with me and mine Order, 
if I do not as much to her pupil, and more also I I will 
teach her to throw spell and incantation over tlie soldiers 
of the blessed Temple. — There, Damian, spurn this Jew from 
the gate — shoot him dead if he oppose or turn again. With 
his daughter we will deal as the Christian law and our own 
high office warrant.” 

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled 
from the preceptory; all his entreaties, and even his offers, 
unheard and disregarded. He could do no better than return 
to the house of the Eabbi, and endeavour, through his 
means, to learn how his daughter was to be disposed of. 
He had hitherto feared for her honour, he was now to tremble 
for her life. Meanwhile, the Grand Master ordered to his 
presence the Preceptor of Templestowe. 


CHAPTEE XXXVI 

DISSOLUTE AND UNPRINCIPLED MEN. REBECCA’S PRESENCE IN THE 
PRECEPTORY IS DISCUSSED. SHE IS TO BE TRIED FOR SORCERY 
A “SCRAP OF PAPER.” 

Albert Malvoisin, President, or, in the language of the 
Order, Preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, was 
brother to that Philip Malvoisin who has been already occa- 
sionally mentioned in this history, and was, like that baron, 
in close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the 


IVANHOE. 


375 


Temple Order included but too many, Albert of Temple- 
stowe might be distinguished; but with this difference from 
the audacious Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to throw 
over his vices and his ambition the veil of hypocrisy, and 
to assume in his exterior the fanaticism which he internally 
despised. Had not the arrival of the Grand Master been 
so unexpectedly sudden, he would have seen nothing at 
Templestowe which might have appeared to argue any relaxa- 
tion of discipline. And, even although surprised, and, to 
a certain extent, detected, Albert Malvoisin listened with 
such respect and apparent contrition to the rebuke of his 
Superior, and made such haste to reform the particulars he 
censured, — succeeded, in fine, so well in giving an air of 
ascetic devotion to a family which had been lately devoted 
to license and pleasure, that Lucas Beaumanoir began to 
entertain a higher opinion of the Preceptor’s morals, than 
the first appearance of the establishment had inclined him 
to adopt. / 

But these favourable sentiments on the part of the Grand 
Master were greatly shaken by the intelligence that Albert 
had received within a house of religion the Jewish captive, 
and, as was to be feared, the paramour of a brother of the 
Order; and when Albert appeared before him, he was re- 
garded with unwonted sternness. 

^‘There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes of 
the holy Order of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, in a 
severe tone, “a Jewish woman, brought hither by a brother 
of religion, by your connivance. Sir Preceptor.” 

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion ; for 
the unfortunate Eebecca had been confined in a remote and 
secret part of the building, and every precaution used to 
prevent her residence there from being known. He read 
in the looks of Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to 
himself, unless he should be able to avert the impending 
storm. 

^‘Why are you mute?” continued the Grand Master. 

‘Ts it permitted to me to reply?” answered the Preceptor, 
in a tone of the deepest humility, although by the question 
he only meant to gain an instant’s space for arranging his 
ideas. 


376 


IVANHOE. 


^^Speak, you are permitted/’ said the Grand Master — 
'^speak, and say, knowest thou the capital of our holy rule, 
— De commilitonibus Templi in sancta civitate, qui cum 
miserrimis mulierihus versantur, propter ohlectationem 
carnis f’ 

^^Surely, most reverend father/’ answered the Preceptor, 
have not risen to this office in the Order, being ignorant 
of one of its most important prohibitions.” 

^^How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that 
thou hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that 
paramour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the 
stain and pollution thereof?” 

Jewish sorceress!” echoed Albert Malvoisin; ^^good 
angels guard us!” 

“Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress !” said the Grand Master, 
sternly. “I have said it. Barest thou deny that this Ke- 
becca, the daughter of that wretched usurer Isaac of York, 
and the pupil of the. foul witch Miriam, is now — shame to 
be thought or spoken ! — lodged within this thy Preceptory ?” 

“Your wisdom, reverend father,” answered the Preceptor, 
“hath rolled away the darkness from my understanding. 
Much did I wonder that so good a knight as Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on the charms of this 
female, whom I received into this house merely to place 
a bar betwixt their growing intimacy, which else might have 
been cemented at the expense of the fall of our valiant and 
religious brother.” 

“Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in 
breach of his vow?” demanded the Grand Master. 

“What! under this roof?” said the Preceptor, crossing 
himself; “Saint Magdalene and the ten thousand virgins 
forbid! — No! if I have sinned in receiving her here, it was 
in the erring thought that I might thus break off our 
brother’s besotted devotion to this Jewess, which seemed to 
me so wild and unnatural, that I could not but ascribe it 
to some touch of insanity, more to be cured by pity than 
reproof. But since your reverend wisdom hath discovered 
this Jewish quean to be a sorceress, perchance it may account 
fully for his enamoured folly.” 

“It doth! — it doth!” said Beaumanoir. “See, brother 


IVANHOE. 


377 


Conrade, the peril of yielding to the first devices and bland- 
ishments of Satan ! We look upon woman only to gratify 
the Inst of the eye, and to take pleasure in what men caU 
her beauty; and the Ancient Enemy, the devouring Lion,^ 
obtains power over us, to complete, by talisman and spell, 
a work which was begun by idleness and folly. It may be 
that our brother Bois-Guilbert does in this matter deserve 
rather pity than severe chastisement; rather the support of 
the staff, than the strokes of the rod; and that our admoni- 
tions and prayers may turn him from his folly, and restore 
him to his brethren.” 

‘Gt were deep pity,” said Conrade Mont-Fitchet, “to lose 
to the Order one of its best lances, when the Holy Com- 
munity most requires the aid of its sons. Three hundred 
Saracens hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with his 
own hand.” 

“The blood of these accursed dogs,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter “shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to the saints 
and angels whom they despise and blaspheme; and with 
their aid will we counteract the spells and charms with which 
our brother is entwined as in a net. He shall burst the 
bands of this Delilah, as Samson burst the two new cords^ 
with which the Philistines had bound him, and shall slaugh- 
ter the infidels, even heaps upon heaps. But concerning 
this foul witch, who hath flung her enchantments over a 
brother of the Holy Temple, assuredly she shall die the death.” 

“But the laws of England,” — said the Preceptor, who, 
though delighted that the Grand Master’s resentment, thus 
fortunately averted from himself and Bois-Guilbert, had 
taken another direction, began now to fear he was carrying 
it too far. 

“The laws of England,” interrupted Beaumanoir, “permit 
and enjoin each judge to execute justice within his own 
jurisdiction. The most petty baron may arrest, try, and 
condemn a witch found within his own domain. And shall 
that power be denied to the Grand Master of the Temple 
within a preceptory of his Order? — Ho! we will judge and 
condemn. The witch shall be taken out of the land, and 

1 1. Peter v;8. * Judges xv; 13, 14. 


378 


IVANHOE. 


the wickedness thereof shall be forgiven. Prepare the 
Castlehall for the trial of the sorceress/^ 

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, — not to give directions 
for preparing the hall, bnt to seek ont Brian de Bois-Gruilbert, 
and communicate to him how matters were likely to termi- 
nate. It was not long ere he found him, foaming with in- 
dignation at a repulse he had anew sustained from the fair 
Jewess. ‘The unthinking,” he said, “the ungrateful, to scorn 
him who, amidst blood and flames, would have saved her life 
at the risk of his own ! By Heaven, Malvoisin ! I abode until 
roof and rafters crackled and' crashed around me. I was the 
butt of a hundred arrows ; they rattled on mine armour like 
hailstones against a latticed casement, and the only use I 
made of my shield was for her protection. This did I endure 
for her; and now the self-willed girl upbraids me that I did 
not leave her to perish, and refuses me not only the slightest 
proof of gratitude, but even the most distant hope that ever 
she will be brought to grant any. The devil, that possessed 
her race with obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in her 
single person!” 

“The devil,” said the Preceptor, “I think, possessed you 
both. How oft have I preached to you caution, if not conti- 
nence? Did I not tell you that there were enough willing 
Christian damsels to be met with, who would think it sin to 
refuse so brave a knight le don d’ amour eux merci, and you 
must needs anchor your affection on a wilful, obstinate 
J ewess ! By the mass, I think old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses 
right, when he maintains she hath cast a spell over you.” 

“Lucas Beaumanoir 1” said Bois-Guilbert reproachfully — 
“Are these your precautions, Malvoisin? Hast thou suffered 
the dotard to learn that Bebecca is in the Preceptory?” 

“How could I help it?” said the Preceptor. “I neglected 
nothing that could keep secret your mystery; but it is be- 
trayed, and whether by the devil or no, the devil only can 
tell. But I have turned the matter as I could ; you are safe 
if you renounce Bebecca. You are pitied — the victim of mag- 
ical delusion. She is a sorceress, and must suffer as such.” 

“She shall not, by Heaven!” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“By Heaven, she must and will !” said Malvoisin. “Neither 
you nor any one else can save her. Lucas Beaumanoir hath 


IVANHOE. 


379 


settled that the death of a Jewess will be a sin-offering suffi- 
cient to atone for all the amorous indulgences of the Knights 
Templars; and thou knowest he hath both the power and 
will to execute so reasonable and pious a purpose/’ 

“Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever 
existed !” said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the apart- 
ment. 

“What they may believe, I know not,” said Malvoisin, calm- 
ly; “but I know well, that in this our day, clergy and lay- 
men, take ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry amen to the 
Grand Master’s sentence.” 

“I have it,” said Bois-Guilbert. “Albert, thou art my 
friend. Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and I 
will transport her to some place of greater security and 
secrecy.” 

“I cannot, if I would,” replied the Preceptor; “the man- 
sion is filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, and 
others who are devoted to him. And, to be frank with you, 
brother, I would not embark with you in this matter, even if 
I could hope to bring my bark to haven. I have risked enough 
already for your sake. I have no mind to encounter a sen- 
tence of degradation, or even to lose my Preceptory, for the 
sake of a painted piece of Jewish flesh and blood. And you, 
if you will be guided by my counsel, will give up this wild- 
goose chase, and fly your hawk at some other game. Think, 
Bois-Guilbert, — thy present rank, thy future honours, all de- 
pend on thy place in the Order. Shouldst thou adhere per- 
versely to thy passion for this Eebecca, thou wilt give Beau- 
manoir the power of expelling thee, and he will not neglect it. 
He is jealous of the truncheon which he holds in his trembling 
gripe, and he knows thou stretchest thy bold hand towards it. 
Doubt not he will ruin thee, if thou affordest him a pretext 
so fair as thy protection of a Jewish sorceress. Give him his 
scope in this matter, for thou canst not control him. When 
the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou mayest caress the 
daughters of Judah, or burn them, as may best suit thine own 
humour.” 

“Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “thou art a cold-blooded — ” 

“Friend,” said the Preceptor, hastening to fill up the blank, 
in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed a worse 


280 


IVANHOE. 


word, — cold-blooded friend I am, and therefore more fit to 
give thee advice. I tell thee once more, that thou canst not 
save Eebecca. I tell thee once more thou canst but perish 
with her. Go hie thee to the Grand Master — throw thyself at 
his feet and tell him — ” 

^^Not at his feet, by Heaven ! but to the dotard’s very beard 
will I say — 

^^Say to him, then, to his beard,” continued Malvoisin, 
coolly, '‘that you love this captive J ewess to distraction ; and 
the more thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the greater will be 
his haste to end it by the death of the fair enchantress; while 
thou, taken in fiagrant delict by the avowal of a crime con- 
trary to thy oath, canst hope no aid of thy brethren, and must 
exchange all thy brilliant visions of ambition and power, to 
lift perhaps a mercenary spear in some of the petty quarrels 
between Flanders and Burgundy.” 

“Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,” said Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, after a moment’s refiection. “I will give the hoary 
bigot no advantage over me; and for Eebecca, she hath not 
merited at my hand that I should expose rank and honour for 
her sake. I will cast her off — ^yes, I will leave her to her 
fate, unless — ” 

“Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,” said Mal- 
voisin; “women are but the toys which amuse our lighter 
hours — ambition is the serious business of life. Perish a thou- 
sand such frail baubles as this Jewess, before thy manly step 
pause in the brilliant career that lies stretched before thee! 
For the present we part, nor must we be seen to hold close con- 
versation. I must order the hall for his judgment-seat.” 

“What I” said Bois-Guilbert, “so soon ?” 

“Ay,” replied the Preceptor, “trial moves rapidly on when 
the judge has determined the sentence beforehand.” 

“Eebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, when he was left alone, 
“thou art like to cost me dear. Why cannot I abandon thee 
to thy fate, as this calm hypocrite recommends? — One effort 
will I make to save thee — but beware of ingratitude ! for if I 
am again repulsed, my vengeance shall equal my love. The 
life and honour of Bois-Guilbert must not be hazarded, where 
contempt and reproaches are his only reward.” 

The Preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, when 


IVANHOE. 


381 


he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who acquainted him 
with the Grand Master^s resolution to bring the Jewess to 
instant trial for sorcery. 

‘Gt is surely a dream,” said the Preceptor ; ^ Ve have many 
Jewish physicians, and we call them not wizards though they 
work wonderful cures.” 

^^The Grand Master thinks otherwise,” said Mont-Fitchet ; 
^^and, Albert, I will be upright with thee — wizard or not, it 
were better that this miserable damsel die, than that Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the Order, or the Order 
divided by internal dissension. Thou knowest his high rank, 
his fame in arms — thou knowest the zeal with which many 
of our brethren regard him — but all this will not avail him 
with our Grand Master, should he consider Brian as the 
accomplice, not the victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls of 
the twelve tribes in her single body, it were better she suffered 
alone, than that Bois-Guilbert were partner in her destruc- 
tion.” 

‘‘1 have been working him even now to abandon her,” said 
Malvoisin; ^T)ut still, are there grounds enough to condemn 
this Eebecca for sorcery? — Will not the Grand Master change 
his mind when he sees that the proofs are so weak?” 

‘‘^They must be strengthened, Albert,” replied Mont-Fitchet, 
^They must be strengthened. Dost thou understand me?” 

do,” said the Preceptor, ^‘nor do I scruple to do aught 
for advancement of the Order — but there is little time to find 
engines fitting.” 

^^Malvoisin, they must be found,” said Conrade ; ^Vell will 
it advantage both the Order and thee. This Templestowe is a 
poor Preceptory — that of Maison-Dieu is worth double its 
— thou knowest my interest with our old chief — find 
those who can carry this matter through, and thou art Pre- 
ceptor of Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent.^ — How sayest 
thou ?” 

“There are,” replied Malvoisin, “among those who came 
hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well know; 
servants they were to my brother Philip de Malvoisin, and 
passed from his service to that of Front-de-Boeuf. It may be 
they know something of the witcheries of this woman.” 

1 Kent is the southeastern county of England. 


382 


IVANHOE. 


“Away, seek them out instantly — and hark thee, if a byzant 
or two will sharpen their memory, let them not be wanting/^ 

“They would swear the mother that bore them a sorceress 
for a zecchin,” said the Preceptor. 

“Away, then,” said Mont-Fitchet ; “at noon the affair will 
proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest prepara- 
tion since he condemned to the stake Hamet Alfagi, a convert 
who relapsed to the Moslem faith.” 

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of noon, 
when Pebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the private 
stair which led to her place of confinement. The noise an- 
nounced the arrival of several persons, and the circumstance 
rather gave her joy; for she was more afraid of the solitary 
visits of the fierce and passionate Bois-Guilbert than of any 
evil that could befall her besides. The door of the chamber 
was unlocked, and Conrade and the Preceptor Malvoisin 
entered, attended by four warders clothed in black, and bear- 
ing halberds. 

“Daughter of an accursed race !” said the Preceptor, “arise 
and follow us.” 

“Whither,” said Eebecca, “and for what purpose?” 

“Damsel,” answered Conrade, “it is not for thee to ques- 
tion, but to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee, that thou 
art to be brought before the tribunal of the Grand Master 
of our holy Order, there to answer for thine offences.” 

“May the God of Abraham be praised !” said Eebecca, fold- 
ing her hands devoutly; “the name of a judge, though an 
enemy to my people, is to me as the name of a protector. 
Most willingly do I follow thee — permit me only to wrap my 
veil around my head.” 

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, trav- 
ersed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding doors placed at 
the end, entered the great hall in which the Grand Master 
had for the time established his court of justice. 

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled with 
squires and yeomen, who made way not without some diffi- 
culty for Eebecca, attended by the Preceptor and Mont- 
Fitchet, and followed by the guard of halberdiers, to move 
forward to the seat appointed for her. As she passed through 
the crowd, her arms folded and her head depressed, a scrap 


IVANHOE. 


383 


of paper was thrust into her hand, which she received almost 
unconsciously, and continued to hold without examining its 
contents. The assurance that she possessed some friend in 
this awful assembly gave her courage to look around, and to 
mark into whose presence she had been conducted. She gazed, 
accordingly, upon the scene, which we shall endeavour to 
describe in the next chapter. 


CHAPTEE XXXVII 

THE TRIBUNAL. THE GRAND MASTER’S ADDRESS. WITNESSES. HIGG, 
THE SON OP SNELL. REBECCA’S APPEAL. THE SLIP OF PARCH- 
MENT. DEMAND FOR A TRIAL BY COMBAT. 

Th:^ tribunal, erected for the trial of the innocent and 
unhappy Eebecca, occupied the dais or elevated part of the 
upper end of the great hall — a platform, which we have 
already described as the place of honour, destined to be occu- 
pied by the most distinguished inhabitants or guests of an 
ancient mansion. 

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the 
Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes of flow- 
ing white, holding in his hand the mystic staff, which bore 
the symbol of the Order. At his feet was placed a table, 
occupied by two scribes, chaplains of the Order, whose duty 
it was to reduce to formal record the proceedings of the day. 
The black dresses, bare scalps, and demure looks of these 
churchmen, formed a strong contrast to the warlike appear- 
ance of the knights who attended, either as residing in the 
Preceptory, or as come thither to attend upon their Grand 
Master. The Preceptors, of whom there were four present, 
occupied seats lower in height, and somewhat drawn back be- 
hind that of their superior; and the knights, who enjoyed 
no such rank in the Order, were placed on benches still lower, 
and preserving the same distance from the Preceptors as these 
from the Grand Master. Behind them, but still upon the dais 
or elevated portion of the hall, stood the esquires of the Order, 
in white dresses of an inferior quality. 

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most profound 
gravity; and in the faces of the knights might be perceived 


284 


IVANHOE. 


traces of military daring, united with the solemn carriage 
becoming men of a religions profession, and which, in the 
presence of their Grand Master, failed not to sit upon every 
brow. 

The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled with 
guards, holding partisans, and with other attendants whom 
curiosity had drawn thither, to see at once a Grand Master 
and a Jewess sorceress. By far the greater part of those 
inferior persons were, in one rank or other, connected with 
the Order, and were accordingly distinguished by their black 
dresses. But peasants from the neighbouring country were 
not refused admittance; for it was the pride of Beaumanoir 
to render the edifying spectacle of the Justice which he admin- 
istered as public as possible. His large blue eyes seemed to 
expand as he gazed around the assembly, and his countenance 
appeared elated by the conscious dignity, and imaginary 
merit, of the part which he was about to perform. A psalm, 
which he himself accompanied with a deep mellow voice, 
which age had not deprived of its powers, commenced the 
proceedings of the day; and the solemn sounds, Venite 
exuUemus Domino, so often sung by the Templars before 
engaging with earthly adversaries, was Judged by Lucas most 
appropriate to introduce the approaching triumph, for such 
he deemed it, over the powers of darkness. The deep pro- 
longed notes, raised by a hundred masculine voices accustomed 
to combine in the choral chant, arose to the vaulted roof of 
the hall, and rolled on amongst its arches with the pleasing 
yet solemn sound of the rushing of mighty waters. 

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced his eye 
slowly around the circle, and observed that the seat of one of 
the Preceptors was vacant. Brian de Bois-Guilbert, by whom 
it had been occupied, had left his place, and was now standing 
near the extreme corner of one of the benches occupied by the 
Knights Companions of the Temple, one hand extending his 
long mantle, so as in some degree to hide his face ; while the 
other held his cross-handled sword, with the point of which, 
sheathed as it was, he was slowly drawing lines upon the 
oaken floor. 

^^Unhappy man !’’ said the Grand Master, after favouring 
him with a glance of compassion. ^^Thou seest, Conrade, how 


IVANHOE 


385 


this holy work distresses him. To this can the light look of 
woman, aided by the Prince of the Powers of this world, bring 
a valiant and worthy knight! — Seest thou he cannot look 
upon ns; he cannot look upon her; and who knows by what 
impulse from his tormentor his hand forms these cabalistic 
lines upon the floor ? — It may be our life and safety are thus 
aimed at; but we spit at and defy the foul enemy. Semper 
Leo percutiatur !” 

This was communicated apart to his confldential follower, 
Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then raised his 
voice, and addressed the assembly. 

^‘Eeverend and valiant men, Knights, Preceptors, and Com- 
panions of this Holy Order, my brethren and my children ! — 
you also, well-born and pious Esquires, who aspire to wear this 
holy Cross ! — and you also, Christian brethren, of every 
degree! — Be it known to you, that it is not defect of power 
in us which hath occasioned the assembling of this congre- 
gation; for, however unworthy in our person, yet to us is 
committed, with this batoon, full power to judge and to try 
all that regards the weal of this our Holy Order. Holy Saint 
Bernard, in the rule of our knightly and religious profession, 
hath said, in the flfty-ninth capital, that he would not that 
brethren be called together in council, save at the will and 
command of the Master; leaving it free to us, as to those 
more worthy fathers who have preceded us in this our office, 
to judge, as well of the occasion as of the time and place in 
which a chapter of the whole Order, or any part thereof, 
may be convoked. Also, in all such chapters, it is our duty to 
hear the advice of our brethren, and to proceed according to 
our own pleasure. But when the raging wolf hath made an 
inroad upon the flock, and carried off one member thereof, 
it is the duty of the kind shepherd to call his comrades to- 
gether, that with bows and slings they may quell the invader, 
according to our well-known rule, that the lion is ever to be 
beaten down. We have therefore summoned to our presence 
a Jewish woman, by name Eebecca, daughter of Isaac^ of 
York — a woman infamous for sortileges^ and for witcheries; 
whereby she hath maddened the blood, and besotted the brain, 
not of a churl, but of a Knight — not of a secular Knight, 

1 Sortilege is the drawing of lots; divination by lots; sorcery. 


286 


IVANHOE. 


but of one devoted to the service of the Holy Temple — not of 
a Knight Companion, but of a Preceptor of our Order, first 
in honour as in place. Our brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
is well known to ourselves, and to all degrees who now hear 
me, as a true and zealous champion. of the Cross, by whose 
arm many deeds of valour have been wrought in the Holy 
Land, and the holy places purified from pollution by the blood 
of those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our brother’s 
sagacity and prudence been less in repute among his brethren 
than his valour and discipline; in so much, that knights, 
both in eastern and western lands, have named De Bois-Guil- 
bert as one who may well be put in nomination as successor 
to this batoon, when it shall please Heaven to release us from 
the toil of bearing it. If we were told that such a man, so 
honoured, and so honourable, suddenly casting away regard 
for his character, his vows, his brethren, and his prospects, 
had associated to himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in this 
lewd company, through solitary places, defended her person 
in preference to his own, and finally, was so utterly blinded 
and besotted by his folly, as to bring her even to one of our 
own Preceptories, what should we say but that the noble 
knight was possessed by some evil demon, or infiuenced by 
some wicked spell? — If we could suppose it otherwise, think 
not rank, valour, high repute, or any earthly consideration, 
should prevent us from visiting him with punishment, that 
the evil thing might be removed, even according to the text, 
Auferte malum ex vohis. For various and heinous are the acts 
of transgression against the rule of our blessed Order in this 
lamentable history, — 1st, He hath walked according to his 
proper will,^ contrary to capitaP 33, Quod nullus juxta pro^ 
priam voluntatem incedat. — 2d, He hath held communication 
with an excommunicated person, capital 57, Ut fratres non 
participent cum excommunicatis, and therefore hath a portion 
in Anathema Maranatha} — 3d, He hath conversed with 
strange women, contrary to the capital, TJt fratres non conver- 
santer cum extraneis mulieribus. — Ith, He hath not avoided, 
nay, he hath, it is to be feared, solicited the kiss pf woman ; by 
which, saith the last rule of our renowned Order, Ut fugiantur 
oscula, the soldiers of the Cross are brought into a snare. 

1 own will. 2 Chapter. * Anathema Maranatha — severe ban or curse. I. Cor- 
inthians xvi: 22. 


IVANHOE. 


387 


For which heinous and multiplied guilt, Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert should be cut off and cast out from our congregation, 
were he the right hand and right eye thereof/’^ 

He paused. A low murmur went through the assembly. 
Some of the younger part, who had been inclined to smile at 
the statute De osculis fugiendis, became now grave enough, 
and anxiously waited what the Grand Master was next to 
propose. 

^^Such,^’ he said, '^and so great should indeed be the punish- 
ment of a Knight Templar, who wilfully offended against the 
rules of his Order in such weighty points. But if, by means 
of charms and of spells, Satan had obtained dominion over 
the Knight, perchance because he cast his eyes too lightly 
upon a damseFs beauty, we are then rather to lament than 
chastise his backsliding; and, imposing on him only such 
penance as may purify him from his iniquity, we are to turn 
the full edge of our indignation upon the accursed instrument, 
which had so well-nigh occasioned his utter falling away. — 
Stand forth, therefore, and bear witness, ye who have wit- 
nessed these unhappy doings, that we may judge of the sum 
and bearing thereof; and judge whether our justice may be 
satisfied with the punishment of this infidel woman, or if we 
must go on, with a bleeding heart, to the further proceeding 
against our brother.^^ 

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks to 
which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring to save 
Eebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect of his per- 
sonal defence in attending to her safety. The men gave these 
details with the exaggerations common to vulgar minds which 
have been strongly excited by any remarkable event, and their 
natural disposition to the marvellous was greatly increased by 
the satisfaction which their evidence seemed to afford to the 
eminent person for whose information it had been delivered. 
Thus the dangers which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in them- 
selves sufficiently great, became portentous in their narrative. 
The devotion of the Knight to Eebecca's defence was exag- 
gerated beyond the bounds, not only of discretion, but even of 
the most frantic excess of chivalrous zeal; and his deference 
to what she said, even although her language was often severe 

1 Matthew v; 29, 30. 


2'88 


IVANHOE. 


and upbraiding, was painted as carried to an excess, which, in 
a man of his haughty temper, seemed almost preternatural. 

The Preceptor of Templestowe was then called on to de- 
scribe the manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the Jewess 
arrived at the Preceptory. The evidence of Malvoisin was 
skilfully guarded. But while he apparently studied to spare 
the feelings of Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from time to time, 
such hints, as seemed to infer that he laboured under some 
temporary alienation of mind, so deeply did he appear to be 
enamoured of the damsel whom he brought along with him. 
With sighs of penitence, the Preceptor avowed his own con- 
trition for having admitted Eebecca and her lover within the 
walls of the Preceptory. — ^‘^But my defence,^^ he concluded, 
^“^has been made in my confession to our most reverend father 
the Grand Master; he knows my motives were not evil, 
though my conduct may have been irregular. Joyfully will 
I submit to any penance he shall assign me.^^ 

^^Thou hast spoken well. Brother Albert,’^ said Beaumanoir ; 
^Thy motives were good, since thou didst judge it right to 
arrest thine erring brother in his career of precipitate folly. 
But thy conduct was wrong ; as he that would stop a runaway 
steed, and seizing by the stirrup instead of the bridle, receiv- 
eth injury himself, instead of accomplishing his purpose. 
Thirteen paternosters are assigned by our pious founder for 
matins, and nine for vespers; be those services doubled by 
thee. Thrice a- week are Templars permitted the use of flesh ; 
but do thou keep fast for all the seven days. This do for 
six weeks to come, and thy penance is accomplished.^^ 

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the 
Preceptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his 
Superior, and resumed his seat. 

‘^Were it not well, brethren,’^ said the Grand Master, ^That 
we examine something into the former life and conversation 
of this woman, specially that we may discover whether she be 
one likely to use magical charms and spells, since the truths 
which we have heard may well incline us to suppose, that in 
this unhappy course our erring brother has been acted upon by 
some infernal enticement and delusion 

Herman of Goodalricke was the Fourth Preceptor present; 
the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois-Guilbert 


IVANHOE. 


389 


himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, whose face was 
marked with scars inflicted by the sabre of the Moslemah, and 
had great rank and consideration among his brethren. He 
arose and bowed to the Grand Master, who instantly granted 
him license of speech. ‘‘1 would crave to know, most Eever- 
end Father, of our valiant brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
what he says to these wondrous accusations, and with what 
eye he himself now regards his unhappy intercourse with this 
Jewish maiden?^’ 

“Brian de Bois-Guilbert,’’ said the Grand Master, “thou 
hearest the question which our Brother of Goodalricke desirest 
thou shouldst answer. I command thee to reply to him.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master 
when thus addressed, and remained silent. 

“He is possessed by a dumb devil,” said the Grand Master. 
“Avoid thee, Sathanas! — Speak, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, I 
conjure thee, by this symbol of our Holy Order.” 

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising scorn 
and indignation, the expression of which, he was well aware, 
would have little availed him. “Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” he 
answered, “replies not, most Reverend Father, to such wild 
and vague charges. If his honour be impeached, he will 
defend it with his body, and with that sword which has often 
fought for Christendom.” 

“We forgive thee. Brother Brian,” said the Grand Master; 
“though that thou hast boasted thy warlike achievements 
before us, is a glorifying of thine own deeds, and cometh of 
the Enemy, who tempteth us to exalt our own worship. But 
thou hast our pardon, judging thou speakest less of thine own 
suggestion than from the impulse of him whom, by Heaven’s 
leave, we will quell and drive forth from our assembly.” A 
glance of disdain flashed from the dark fierce eyes of Bois- 
Guilbert, but he made no reply. — “And now,” pursued the 
Grand Master, “since our Brother of Goodalricke’s question 
has been thus imperfectly answered, pursue we our quest, 
brethren, and with our patron’s assistance, we will search to 
the bottom this mystery of iniquity. — Let those who have 
aught to witness of the life and conversation of this Jewish 
woman, stand forth before us.” There was a bustle in the 
lower part of the hall, and when the Grand Master enquired 


390 


IVANHOE. 


the reason, it was replied, there was in the crowd a bedridden 
man, whom the prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his 
limbs, by a miraculous balsam. 

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged forward 
to the bar, terrified at the penal consequences which he might 
have incurred by the guilt of having been cured of the palsy 
by a Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured he certainly was not, for 
he supported himself forward on crutches to give evidence. 
Most unwilling was his testimony, and given with many tears ; 
but he admitted that two years since, when residing at York, 
he was suddenly afflicted with a sore disease, while labouring 
for Isaac the rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he 
had been unable to stir from his bed until the remedies ap- 
plied by Eebecca’s directions, and especially a warming and 
spicy-smelling balsam, had in some degree restored him to 
the use of his limbs. Moreover, he said, she had given him 
a pot of that precious ointment, and furnished him with a 
piece of money withal, to return to the house of his father, 
near to Templestowe. ‘^^And may it please your gracious 
Eeverence,” said the man, cannot think the damsel meant 
harm by me, though she hath the ill hap to be a Jewess; 
for even when I used her remedy, I said the Pater and the 
Creed, and it never operated a whit less kindly.” 

‘Teace, slave,” said the Grand Master, ^‘^and begone! It 
well suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinketing with 
hellish cures, and to be giving your labour to the sons of mis- 
chief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose diseases for the very 
purpose of removing them, in order to bring into credit some 
diabolical fashion of cure. Hast thou that unguent of which 
thou speakest?” 

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling hand, 
produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew characters on the 
lid, which was, with most of the audience, a sure proof that 
the devil had stood apothecary. Beaumanoir, after crossing 
himself, took the box into his hand, and, learned in most of 
the Eastern tongues, read with ease the motto on the lid, — 
The Lion of the Tribe of Judah hath conquered} “Strange 
powers of Sathanas,” said he, “which can convert Scripture 
into blasphemy, mingling poison with our necessary food! — 

1 Revelation v; 5. 


IVANHOE. 


391 


Is there no leech here who can tell ns the ingredients of this 
mystic nngnent?” 

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a monk, 
the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they knew nothing 
of the materials, excepting that they savoured of myrrh and 
camphire, which they took to be Oriental herbs. But with 
the trne professional hatred to a successful practitioner of 
their art, they insinuated that, since the medicine was beyond 
their own knowledge, it must necessarily have been com- 
pounded from an unlawful and magical pharmacopeia since 
they them.selves, though no conjurers, fully understood every 
branch of their art, so far as it might be exercised with the 
good faith of a Christian. When this medical research was 
ended, the Saxon peasant desired humbly to have back the 
medicine which he had found so salutary; but the Grand 
Master frowned severely at the request. ^‘What is thy name, 
fellow?” said he to the cripple. 

^^Higg, the son of Snell,” answered the peasant. 

'^Then Higg, son of Snell,” said the Grand Master, “I tell 
thee it is better to be bedridden, than to accept the benefit of 
unbelievers’ medicine that thou mayest arise and walk ; better 
to despoil infidels of their treasure by the strong hand, than 
to accept of them benevolent gifts, or do them service for 
wages. Go thou, and do as I have said.” 

Alack,” said the peasant, ^^an it shall not displease your 
Reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I am but a 
maimed man; but I will tell my two brethren, who serve the 
rich Rabbi Nathan Ben Samuel, that your mastership says it 
is more lawful to rob him than to render him faithful service.” 

^^Out with the prating villain !” said Beaumanoir, who was 
not prepared to refute this practical application of his general 
maxim. 

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, inter- 
ested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until he should 
learn her doom, even at the risk of again encountering the 
frown of that severe judge, the terror of which withered his 
very heart within him. 

At this period of the trial, the Grand Master commanded 
Rebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for the first time, 

^ manual of formulas and methods of compounding and preparing medicines. 


292 


IVANHOE. 


she replied patiently, but with dignity, — ^^That it was not the 
wont of the daughters of her people to uncover their faces 
when alone in an assembly of strangers.” The sweet tones 
of her voice, and the softness of her reply, impressed on the 
audience a sentiment of pity and sympathy. But Beau- 
manoir, in whose mind the suppression of each feeling of 
humanity which could interfere with his imagined duty, was 
a virtue of itself, repeated his commands that his victim 
should be unveiled. The guards were about to remove her 
veil accordingly, when she stood up before the Grand Master 
and said, ^^Nay, but for the love of your own daughters — 
Alas,” she said, recollecting herself, ^^ye have no daughters ! — 
yet for the remembrance of your mothers — for the love of 
your sisters, and of female decency, let me not be thus handled 
in your presence; it suits not a maiden to be disrobed by 
such rude grooms. I will obey you,” she added, with an ex- 
pression of patient sorrow in her voice, which had almost 
melted the heart of Beaumanoir himself ; ^^ye are elders among 
your people, and at your command I will show the features 
of an ill-fated maiden.” 

She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a counte- 
nance in which bashfulness contended with dignity. Her 
exceeding beauty excited a murmur of surprise, and the 
younger knights told each other with their eyes, in silent cor- 
respondence, that Brian’s best apology was in the power of 
her real charms, rather than of her imaginary witchcraft. 
But Higg, the son of Snell, felt most deeply the effect pro- 
duced by the sight of the countenance of his benefactress. 
"Let me go forth,” he said to the warders at the door of the 
hall, — "let me go forth! — To look at her again will kill me^ 
for I have had a share in murdering her.” 

"Peace, poor man,” said Eebecca, when she heard his ex- 
clamation ; "thou hast done me no harm by speaking the truth 
— thou canst not aid me by thy complaints or lamentations. 
Peace, I pray thee — go home and save thyself.” 

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of the 
warders, who were apprehensive lest his clamorous grief 
should draw upon them reprehension, and upon himself pun- 
ishment. But he promised to be silent, and was permitted to 
remain. The two men-at-arms, with whom Albert Malvoisin 


IVANHOE. 


393 


had not failed to communicate upon the import of their 
testimony, were now called forward. Though both were hard- 
ened and inflexible villains, the sight of the captive maiden, 
as well as her excelling beauty, at first appeared to stagger 
them; but an expressive glance from the Preceptor of Tem- 
plestowe restored them to their dogged composure; and they 
delivered, with a precision which would have seemed sus- 
picious to more impartial judges, circumstances either alto- 
gether fictitious, or trivial and natural in themselves, but ren- 
dered pregnant with suspicion by the exaggerated manner in 
which they were told, and the sinister commentary which the 
witnesses added to the facts. The circumstances of their 
evidence would have been, in modern days, divided into two 
classes — those which were immaterial, and those which were 
actually and physically impossible. But both were, in those 
ignorant and superstitious times, easily credited as proofs of 
guilt. — The first class set forth, that Eebecca was heard to 
mutter to herself in an unknown tongue — that the songs she 
sung by fits were of a strangely sweet sound, which made the 
ears of the hearer tingle, and his heart throb — that she spoke 
at times to herself, and seemed to look upward for a reply — 
that her garments were of a strange and mystic form, unlike 
those of women of good repute — that she had rings impressed 
with cabalistieal devices, and that strange characters were 
broidered on her veil. 

All tliese circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were 
gravely listened to as proofs, or, at least, as affording strong 
suspicions that Eebecca had unlawful correspondence with 
mystical powers. 

But there was less equivocal testimony, which the credulity 
of the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily swallowed, 
however incredible. One of the soldiers had seen her work 
a cure upon a wounded man, brought with them to the castle 
of Torquilstone. She did, he said, make certain signs upon 
the wound, and repeated certain mysterious words, which he 
blessed God he understood not, when the iron head of a square 
cross-bow bolt disengaged itself from the wound, the bleeding 
was stanched, the wound was closed, and the dying man was, 
within a quarter of an hour, walking upon the ramparts, and 
assisting the witness in managing a mangonel, or machine for 


394 


IVANHOE. 


hurling stones. This legend was probably founded upon the 
fact, that Eebecca had attended on the wounded Ivanhoe when 
in the castle of Torquilstone. But it was the more difficult 
to dispute the accuracy of the witness, as, in order to produce 
real evidence in support of his verbal testimony, he drew from 
his pouch the very bolt-head, which, according to his story, 
had been miraculously extracted from the wound ; and as the 
iron weighed a full ounce, it completely confirmed the tale, 
however marvellous. 

His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouring battle- 
ment of the scene betwixt Eebecca and Bois-Guilbert, when 
she was upon the point of precipitating herself from the top 
of the tower. Not to be behind his companion, this fellow 
stated, that he had seen Eebecca perch herself upon the para- 
pet of the turret, and there take the form of a milk-white 
swan, under which appearance she flitted three times round 
the castle of Torquilstone; then again settle on the turret, 
and once more assume the female form. 

Less than one half of this weighty evidence would have been 
sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and ugly, even 
though she had not been a Jewess. United with that fatal cir- 
cumstance, the body of proof was too weighty for Eebecca’s 
youth, though combined with the most exquisite beauty. 

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now in 
a solemn tone demanded of Eebecca what she had to say 
against the sentence of condemnation, which he was about to 
pronounce. 

^^To invoke your pity,” said the lovely Jewess, with a voice 
somewhat tremulous with emotion, ‘Vould, I am aware, be as 
useless as I should hold it mean. To state that to relieve 
the sick and wounded of another religion, cannot be displeas- 
ing to the acknowledged Founder of both our faiths, were 
also unavailing; to plead that many things which these men 
(whom may Heaven pardon!) have spoken against me are 
impossible, would avail me but little, since you believe in their 
possibility; and still less would it advantage me to explain, 
that the peculiarities of my dress, language, and manners, are 
those of my people — I had well-nigh said of my country, but 
alas! we have no country. Nor will I even vindicate myself 
at the expense of my oppressor, who stands there listening 


IVANHOE. 


395 


to the fictions and surmises which seem to convert the tyrant 
into the victim. — God be judge between him and me! but 
rather would I submit to ten such deaths as your pleasure 
may denounce against me, than listen to the suit which that 
man of Belial has urged upon me — friendless, defenceless, 
and his prisoner. But he is of your own faith, and his light- 
est affirmance would weigh down the most solemn protesta- 
tions of the distressed Jewess. I will not therefore return to 
himself the charge brought against me — but to himself — Yes, 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to thyself I appeal, whether these 
accusations are not false? as monstrous and calumnious as 
they are deadly?” 

There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert. He was silent. 

Speak,” she said, ‘^hf thou art a man — if thou art a Chris- 
tian, speak 1 — I conjure thee, by the habit which thou dost 
wear, by the name thou dost inherit — by the knighthood thou 
dost vaunt — by the honour of thy mother — by the tomb and 
the bones of thy father — I conjure thee to say, are these things 
true ?” 

“Answer her, brother,” said the Grand Master, “if the 
Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee power.” 

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending pas- 
sions, which almost convulsed his features, and it was with a 
constrained voice that at last he replied, looking to Kebecca, — 
“The scroll ! — the scroll !” 

“Ay,” said Beaumanoir, “this is indeed testimony! The 
victim of her witcheries can only name the fatal scroll, the 
spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the cause of his 
silence.” 

But Eebecca put another interpretation on the words ex- 
torted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her eye 
upon the slip of parchment which she continued to hold in 
her hand, she read written thereupon in the Arabian charac- 
ter, Demand a Champion! The murmuring commentary 
which ran through the assembly at the strange reply of Bois- 
Guilbert gave Eebecca leisure to examine and instantly to 
destroy the scroll unobserved. . When the whisper had ceased, 
the Grand Master spoke. 

“Eebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evidence of 


396 


IVANHOE. 


this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well perceive, the 
Enemy is yet too powerful. Hast thou aught else to say V’ 

‘^There is yet one chance of life left to me,” said Rebecca, 
^‘^even by your own fierce laws. Life has been miserable — 
miserable, at least, of late — but I will not cast away the gift 
of God, while he affords me the means of defending it. I deny 
this charge — I maintain my innocence, and I declare the 
falsehood of this accusation. — I challenge the privilege of 
trial by combat, and will appear by my champion.” 

^^And who, Rebecca,” replied the Grand Master, ^Vill lay 
lance in rest for a sorceress? who will be the champion of a 
Jewess ?” 

‘^God will raise me up a champion,” said Rebecca. ^ Jt can- 
not be that in merry England — the hospitable, the generous, 
the free, where so many are ready to peril their lives for 
honour, there will not be found one to fight for justice. But 
it is enough that I challenge the trial by combat — there lies 
my gage.” 

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and flung 
it down before the Grand Master with an air of mingled sim- 
plicity and dignity, which excited universal surprise and 
admiration. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

THE GAGE OP BATTLE. THREE DAYS ALLOWED FOR FINDING A CHAM- 
PION. THE SENTENCE BY THE GRAND MASTER. A MESSENGER 
SOUGHT. REBECCA’S “SCROLL” TO ISAAC. 

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the mien 
and appearance of Rebecca. He was not originally a cruel or 
even a severe man; but with passions by nature cold, and 
with a high, though mistaken, sense of duty, his heart had 
been gradually hardened by the ascetic life which he pursued, 
the supreme power which he enjoyed, and the supposed neces- 
sity of subduing infidelity and eradicating heresy, which he 
conceived peculiarly incumbent on him. His features relaxed 
in their usual severity as he gazed upon th© beautiful creature 
before him, alone, unfriended, and defending herself with so 


IVANHOE. 


397 


much spirit and courage. He crossed himself twice, as doubt- 
ing whence arose the unwonted softening of a heart, which on 
such occasions used to resemble in hardness the steel of his 
sword. At length he spoke. 

‘^Damsel,^’ he said, “if the pity I feel for thee arise from 
any practice thine evil arts have made on me, great is thy 
guilt. But I rather judge it the kinder feelings of nature, 
which grieves that so goodly a form should be a vessel of per- 
dition. Repent, my daughter — confess thy witchcrafts — turn 
thee from thine evil faith — embrace this holy emblem, and all 
shall yet be well with thee here and hereafter. In some sister- 
hood of the strictest order, shalt thou have time for prayer 
and fitting penance, and that repentance not to be repented of. 
This do and live — what has the law of Moses done for thee 
that thou shouldest die for it?” 

“It was the law of my fathers,” said Rebecca; ^fit was 
delivered in thunders and in storms upon the mountain of 
Sinai,^ in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, ye 
believe — it is, you say, recalled; but so my teachers have not 
taught me.” 

“Let our chaplain,” said Beaumanoir, “stand forth, and tell 
this obstinate infidel — ” 

“Forgive the interruption,” said Rebecca, meekly; “I am a 
maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion, but I can die 
for it, if it be God’s will. — Let me pray your answer to my 
demand of a champion.” 

“Give me her glove,” said Beaumanoir. “This is indeed,” 
he continued, as he looked at the fiimsy texture and slender 
fingers, “a slight and frail gage for a purpose so deadly! — 
Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and light glove of thine is 
to one of our heaw steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of 
the Temple, for it is our Order which thou hast defied.” 

“Cast my innocence into the scale,” answered Rebecca, “and 
the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of iron.” 

“Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy guilt, 
and in that bold challenge which thou hast made?” 

“I do persist, noble sir,” answered Rebecca. 

“So be it then, in the name of Heaven,” said the Grand 
Master ; “and may God show the right !” 

* Exodus xix:16-18, and xx:l-18. 


398 


IVANHOE. 


‘^Amen/^ replied the Preceptors around him, and the word 
was deeply echoed by the whole assembly. 

“Brethren,^’ said Beaumanoir, ^^you are aware that we 
might well have refused to this woman the benefit of the trial 
by combat — but though a J ewess and an unbeliever, she is also 
a stranger and defenceless, and God forbid that she should ask 
the benefit of our mild laws, and that it should be refused to 
her. Moreover, we are knights and soldiers, as well as men of 
religion, and shame it were to us upon any pretence, to refuse 
proffered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case. Eebecca, 
the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and 
suspicious circumstances defamed of sorcery practised on the 
person of a noble knight of our holy Order, and hath chal- 
lenged the combat in proof of her innocence. To whom, rev- 
erend brethren, is it 5^our opinion that we should deliver the 
gage of battle, naming him, at the same time, to be our 
champion on the field ?” 

^‘To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns,” said 
the Preceptor of Goodalricke, ^^and who, moreover, best knows 
how the truth stands in this matter.” 

^^But if,” said the Grand Master, ^‘our brother Brian be 
under the influence of a charm or a spell — we speak but for 
the sake of precaution, for to the arm of none of our holy 
Order would we more willingly confide this or a more weighty 
cause.” 

^^Eeverend father,” answered the Preceptor of Goodalricke, 
‘^no spell can affect the champion who comes forward to fight 
for the judgment of God.” 

‘^Thou sayest right, brother,” said the Grand Master. ‘^Al- 
bert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert.— It is our charge to thee, brother,” he continued, 
addressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, ‘^That thou do thy battle 
manfully, nothing doubting that the good cause shall triumph. 
— And do thou, Eebecca, attend, that we assign thee the third 
day from the present to find a champion.” 

^^That is but brief space,” answered Eebecca, ^Tor a 
stranger, who is also of another faith, to find one who will 
do battle, wagering life and honour for her cause, against a 
knight who is called an approved soldier.” 

^^We may not extend it,” answered the Grand Master; ^The 


IVANHOE. 


399 


field must be foughten in our own presence, and divers 
weighty causes call us on the fourth day from hence/^ 

^^God’s will be done !” said Rebecca ; put my trust in 
Him, to whom an instant is as effectual to save as a whole 
age/’ 

“Thou hast spoken well, damsel,” said the Grand Master; 
^^but well know we who can array himself like an angel of 
light. It remains but to name a fitting place of combat, and, 
if it so hap, also of execution. — Where is the Preceptor of this 
house ?” 

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca’s glove in his hand, 
was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but in a low 
voice. 

“How!” said the Grand Master, “will he not receive the 
gage?” 

“He will — he doth, most Reverend Father,” said Malvoisin, 
slipping the glove under his own mantle. “And for the place 
of combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists of Saint George 
belonging to this Preceptory, and used by us for military 
exercise.” 

“It is well,” said the Grand Master. — “Rebecca, in those 
lists shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest to 
do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited by the judgment 
of God, thou shalt then die the death of a sorceress, according 
to doom. — Let this our judgment be recorded, and the record 
read aloud, that no one may pretend ignorance.” 

One of the chaplains, who acted as clerks to the chapter, 
immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume, which con- 
tained the proceedings of the Templar Knights when solemnly 
assembled on such occasions; and when he had finished writ- 
ing, the other read aloud the sentence of the Grand Master, 
which, when translated from the Norman- French in which 
it was couched', was expressed as follows : — 

“Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being 
attainted^ of sorcery, seduction, and other damnable practices, 
practised on a Knight of the most Holy Order of the Temple 
of Zion, doth deny the same; and saith, that the testimony 
delivered against her this day is false, wicked, and disloyal ; 
and that by lawful essoine^ of her body as being unable to 

* adjudged guilty of. by her champion, in excuse of her own 

2 signifies excuse, and here relates to person, on account of her sex — Scott, 
the appellant’s privilege of appearing 


400 


IVANHOE. 


combat in her own behalf, she doth offer, by a champion in- 
stead thereof, to avouch her case, he performing his loyal 
devoir in all knightly sort, with such arms as to gage of bat- 
tle do fully appertain, and that at her peril and cost. And 
therewith she proffered her gage. And the gage having been 
delivered to the noble Lord and Knight, Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert, of the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, he was ap- 
pointed to do this battle, in behalf of his Order and himself, 
as injured and impaired by the practices of the appellant. 
Wherefore the most reverend Father and puissant Lord, Lucas 
Marquis of Beaumanoir, did allow of the said challenge, and 
of the said essoine of the appellant’s body, and assigned the 
third day for the said combat, the place being the enclosure 
called the lists of Saint George, near to the Preceptory of 
Templestowe. And the Grand Master appoints the appellant 
to appear there by her champion, on pain of doom, as a person 
convicted of sorcery or seduction; and also the defendant so 
to appear, under the penalty of being held and adjudged 
recreant in case of default: and the noble Lord and most 
reverend Father aforesaid appointed the battle to be done in 
his own presence, and according to all that is commendable 
and profitable in such a case. And may God aid the just 
cause !” 

“Amen !” said the Grand Master ; and the word was echoed 
by all around. Eebecca spoke not, but she looked up to heaven, 
and, folding her hands, remained for a minute without change 
of attitude. She then modestly reminded the Grand Master 
that she ought to be permitted some opportunity of free com- 
munication with her friends, for the purpose of making her 
condition known to them, and procuring, if possible, some 
champion to fight in her behalf. 

“It is just and lawful,” said the Grand Master ; “choose 
what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free com- 
munication with thee in thy prison-chamber.” 

“Is there,” said Eebecca, “any one here who, either for 
love of a good cause, or for ample hire, will do the errand of 
a distressed being?” 

All were silent ; for none thought it safe, in the presence of 
the Grand Master, to avow any interest in the calumniated 
prisoner, lest he should be suspected of leaning towards Juda- 


IVANHOE. 


401 


ism. N ot even the prospect of reward, far less any feelings of 
compassion alone, could surmount this apprehension. 

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anxiety, 
and then exclaimed, ''Is it really thus?— And, in English 
land, am I to be deprived of the poor chance of safety which 
remains to me, for want of an act of charity which would 
not be refused to the worst criminal ?” 

Higg? the son of Snell, at length replied, "I am but a 
maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing to 
her charitable assistance. — I will do thine errand,'' he added, 
addressing Rebecca, "as well as a crippled object can, and 
happy were my limbs fleet enough to repair the mischief done 
by my tongue. Alas ! when I boasted of thy charity, I little 
thought I was leading thee into danger !" 

"God," said Rebecca, "is the disposer of all. He can turn 
back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest instrument. 
To execute his message the snail is as sure a messenger as the 
falcon. Seek out Isaac of York — here is that will pay for 
horse and man — let him have this scroll. — I know not if it be 
of Heaven the spirit which inspires me, but most truly do I 
judge that I am not to die this death, and that a champion 
will be raised up for me. Farewell ! — Life and death are in 
thy haste." 

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few 
lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dissuaded 
him from touching a document so suspicious; but Higg was 
resolute in the service of his benefactress. She had saved 
his body, he said, and he was confident she did not mean to 
peril his soul. 

"I will get me," he said, "my neighbour Buthan's good 
capul,^ and I will be at York within as brief space as man 
and beast may." 

But as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for 
within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory 
he met with two riders, whom, by their dress and their huge 
yellow caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approaching more 
nearly, discovered that one of them was his ancient employer, 
Isaac of York. The other was the Rabbi Ben Samuel; and 
both had approached as near to the Preceptory as they dared, 

1 horse, working horse. 


402 


IVANHOE. 


on hearing that the Grand Master had summoned a chapter 
for the trial of a sorceress. 

^‘Brother Ben Samuel/^ said Isaac, ^^my soul is disquieted, 
and I wot not why. This charge of necromancy is right 
often used for cloaking evil practices on our people.^^ 

‘^Be of good comfort, brother said the physician; ^Thou 
canst deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing the mam- 
mon of unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase 
immunity at their hands — it rules the savage minds of those 
ungodly men, even as the' signet of the mighty Solomon 
was said to command the evil genii. — But what poor wretch 
comes hither upon his crutches, desiring, as I think, some 
speech of me? — Friend,^^ continued the physician, addressing 
Higg, the son of Snell, refuse thee not the aid of mine 
art, but I relieve not with one asper^ those who beg for alms 
upon the highway. Out upon thee !■ — Hast thou the palsy in 
thy legs? then let thy hands work for thy livelihood; for, 
albeit thou be’st unfit for a speedy post, or for a careful 
shepherd, or for the warfare, or for the service of a hasty 
master, yet there be occupations — How now, brother?” said 
he, interrupting his harangue to look towards Isaac, who 
had but glanced at the scroll which Higg offered, when 
uttering a deep groan, he fell from his mule like a dying 
man, and lay for a minute insensible. 

The Eabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily 
applied the remedies which his art suggested for the recov- 
ery of his companion. He had even taken from his pocket 
a cupping apparatus, and was about to proceed to phlebot- 
omy,2 when the object of his anxious solicitude suddenly 
revived; but it was to dash his cap from his head, and to 
throw dust on his grey hairs. The physician was at first 
inclined to ascribe this sudden and violent emotion to the 
effects of insanity; and, adhering to his original purpose, 
began once again to handle his implements. But Isaac soon 
convinced him of his error. 

/^Child of my sorrow,” he said, ^Vell shouldst thou be 
called Benoni,® instead of Eebecca! Why should thy death 

^ small silver Turkish coin — one-twelfth of a penny. 

2 opening of a vein as a remedial measure, blood-letting. 

8 son of my sorrow. Genesis xxxv; 18. 


IVANHOE. 


403 


bring down my grey hairs to the grave, till, in the bitter- 
ness of my heart, I curse God and die !” 

^^Brother,^^ said the Kabbi, in great surprise, “art thou a 
father in Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto these? 
— I trust that the child of thy house yet liveth?’^ 

“She liveth,” answered Isaac; “but it is as Daniel, who 
was called Belteshazzar, even when within the den of the 
lions. She is captive unto those men of Belial, and they 
will wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing neither for her 
youth nor her comely favour. 0 ! she was as a crown of 
green palms to my grey locks; and she must wither in a 
night, like the gourd of Jonah! — Child of my love! — child 
of my old age ! — oh, Eebecca, daughter of Kachel ! the dark- 
ness of the shadow of death hath encompassed thee.^’ 

“Yet read the scroll,” said the Eabbi; “peradventure it 
may be that we may yet find out a way of deliverance.” 

“Do thou read, brother,” answered Isaac, “for mine eyes 
are as a fountain of water.” 

The physician read, but in their native language, the 
following words: — 

“To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call 
Isaac of York, peace and the blessing of the promise be 
multiplied unto thee ! — My father, I am as one doomed to 
die for that which my soul knowest not — even for the crime 
of witchcraft. My father, if a strong man can be found to 
do battle for my cause with sword and spear, according to 
the custom of the Nazarenes, and that within the lists of 
Templestowe, on the third day from this time, peradventure 
our fathers’ God will give him strength to defend the inno- 
cent, and her who hath none to help her. But if this may 
not be, let the virgins of our people mourn for me as for 
one cast off, and for the hart that is stricken by the hunter, 
and for the fiower which is cut down by the scythe of the 
mower. Wherefore look now what thou doest, and whether 
there be any rescue. One Yazarene warrior might indeed 
bear arms in my behalf, even Wilfred, son of Cedric, whom 
the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he may not yet endure the 
weight of his armour. Nevertheless, send the tidings unto 
him, my father; for he hath favour among the strong men 
of his people, and as he was our companion in the house of 


404 


IVANHOE. 


bondage, he may find some one to do battle for my sake. 
And say unto him, even unto him, even unto Wilfred, the 
son of Cedric, that if Kebecca live, or if Kebecca die, she 
liveth or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is charged withal. 
And if it be the will of God that thou shalt be deprived of 
thy daughter, do not thou tarry, old man, in this land of 
bloodshed and cruelty; but betake thyself to Cordova,^ where 
thy brother liveth in safety, under the shadow of the throne, 
even of the throne of Boabdil the Saracen; for less cruel 
are the cruelties of the Moors unto the race of Jacob than 
the cruelties of the Nazarenes of England.^’ 

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben Samuel 
read the letter, and then again resumed the gestures and 
exclamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing his garments, 
besprinkling his head with dust, and ejaculating, ^^My 
daughter ! my daughter ! flesh of my flesh and bone of my 
bone V’ 

‘^Yet,” said the Eabbi, ^flake courage, for this grief avail- 
eth nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this Wilfred, 
the son of Cedric. It may be he will help thee with counsel 
or with strength; for the youth hath favour in the eyes of 
Eichard, called of the Nazarenes Cceur-de-Lion, and the 
tidings that he hath returned are constant in the land. It 
may be that he may obtain his letter, and his signet, com- 
manding these men of blood, who take their name from the 
Temple to the dishonour thereof, that they proceed not in 
their purposed wickedness.” 

‘‘I will seek him out,” said Isaac, “for he is a good youth, 
and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But he can- 
not bear his armour, and what other Christian shall do battle 
for the oppressed of Zion?” 

“Xay, but,” said the Eabbi, “thou speakest as one that 
knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their 
valour, even as with gold thou buyest thine own safety. 
Be of good courage, and do thou set forward to find out 
this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for 
great sin it were to leave thee in thy calamity. I will hie 
me to the city of York, where many warriors and strong 
men are assembled, and doubt not I will find among them 

1 an ancient Spanish city on the Guadalquivir. 


IVANHOE. 


405 


some one who will do battle for thy daughter; for gold is 
their god, and for riches will they pawn their lives, as well 
as their lands. — Thou wilt fulfil, my brother, such promise 
as I may make unto them in thy name?’’ 

^‘Assuredly, brother,” said Isaac, ^^and Heaven be praised 
that raised me up a comforter in my misery. Howbeit, 
grant them not their full demand at once, for thou shalt 
find it the quality of this accursed people that they will 
ask pounds and per adventure accept of ounces. Neverthe- 
less, be it as thou wiliest, for I am distracted in this thing, 
and what would my gold avail me if the child of my love 
should perish !” 

^^Farewell,” said the physician, ^^and may it be to thee as 
thy heart desireth.” 

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their several 
roads. The crippled peasant remained for some time look- 
ing after them. 

^‘These dog- Jews!” said he; ^To take no more notice of a 
free guild-brother than if I were a bond slave or a Turk or 
a circumcised Hebrew like themselves ! They might have 
flung me a mancus^ or two, however. I was not obliged to 
bring their unhallowed scrawls, and run the risk of being 
bewitched, as more folks than one told me. And what care 
I for the bit of gold that the wench gave me, if I am to 
come to harm from the priest next Easter at confession, and 
be obliged to give him twice as much to make it up with 
him, and be called the Jew’s flying post all my life, as it 
may hap, into the bargain? I think I was bewitched in 
earnest when I was beside that girl — But it was always so 
with Jew or Gentile, whosoever came near her — none could 
stay when* she had an errand to go — and still, whenever I 
think of her, I would give shop and tools to save her life.” 

^ an Anglo-Saxon coin worth about 60 cents. Q 


406 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEE XXXIX 

THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN REBECCA AND BOIS-GUILBERT. BOIS- 
GUILBERT AND THE PRECEPTOR. 

It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if . it 
could be called such, had taken place, that a low knock was 
heard at the door of Eebecca’s prison-chamber. It disturbed 
not the inmate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer 
recommended by her religion, and which concluded with a 
hymn we have ventured to translate into English. 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out of the land of bondage came, 

Her father’s God before her moved. 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 

By day, along the astonish’d lands 
The cloudy pillar glided slow; 

By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands 
Return’d the fiery column’s glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise. 

And trump and timbrel answer’d keen, 

And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays. 

With prie.st’s and warrior’s voice between. 

No portents now our foes amaze. 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone; 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways. 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen; 

When brightly shines the prosperous day. 

Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
To temper the deceitful ray. 

And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path 
In shade and storm the frequent night, 

Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning, and a shining light! 

Our harps we left by Babel’s streams*, 

The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn; 

No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 

But Thou hast said, the blood of goat. 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize; 

A contrite heart, and humble thought. 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. 

* by the rivers of Babylon. Psalms cxxxvii: 1, 2. 


IVANHOE. 


4or 

When the sounds of Eebecca’s devotional h}Tnn had died 
away in silence, the low knock at the door was again 
renewed. ‘‘Enter/^ she said, ‘hf thon art a friend; and if 
a foe, I have not the means of refusing thy entrance.’^ 

‘‘I am,’^ said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apart- 
ment, ‘‘friend or foe, Eebecca, as the event of this interview 
shall make me.” 

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious pas- 
sion she considered as the root of her misfortunes, Eebecca 
drew backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet not a 
timorous demeanour, into the farthest corner of the apart- 
ment, as if determined to retreat as far as she could, but to 
stand her ground when retreat became no longer possible. 
She drew herself into an attitude not of defiance, but of 
resolution, as one that would avoid provoking assault, yet 
was resolute to repel it, being offered, to the utmost of her 
power. 

“You have no reason to fear me, Eebecca,” said the 
Templar; “or if I must so qualify my speech, you have at 
least now no reason to fear me.” 

“I fear you not. Sir Knight,” replied Eebecca, although 
her short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her 
accents; “my trust is strong and I fear thee not.” 

“You have no cause,” answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; 
“my former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. 
Within your call are guards, over whom I have no authority. 
They are designed to conduct you to death, Eebecca, yet 
would not suffer you to be insulted by any one, even by me, 
were my frenzy — for frenzy it is— to urge me so far.” 

“May Heaven be praised !” said the J ewess ; “death is the 
least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.” 

“Ay,” replied the Templar, “the idea of death is easily 
received by the courageous mind, when the road to it is 
sudden and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a 
sword, were to me little. To you, a spring from a dizzy 
battlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, 
compared with what either thinks disgrace. Mark me — I 
say this — perhaps mine own sentiments of honour are not 
less fantastic, Eebecca, than thine are; but we know alike 
how to die for them.” 


408 


IVANHOE. 


^^Unhappy man/^ said the Jewess; ^^and art thou con- 
demned to expose thy life for principles, of which thy sober 
judgment does not acknowledge the solidity? Surely this 
is a parting with your treasure for that which is not bread 
— but deem not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on 
the wild and changeful billows of human opinion, but mine 
is anchored on the Kock of Ages.” 

^^Silence, maiden,” answered the Templar ; ^^such dis- 
course now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die 
not a sudden and easy death, such as misery chooses, and 
despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, protracted course of 
torture, suited to what the diabolical bigotry of these men 
calls thy crime.” 

^^And to whom — if such my fate — to whom do I owe 
this?” said Eebecca; ‘^surely only to him, who, for a most 
selflsh and brutal cause, dragged me hither, and who now, 
for some unknown purpose of his own, strives to exaggerate 
the wretched fate to which he exposed me.” 

^^Think not,” said the Templar, ^That I have so exposed 
thee; I would have bucklered thee against such danger with 
my own bosom, as freely as ever I exposed it to the shafts 
which had otherwise reached thy life.” 

^^Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of the 
innocent,” said Eebecca, ‘T had thanked thee for thy care — 
as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often, that I tell 
thee life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the price 
which thou wouldst exact for it.” 

''Truce with thine upbraidings, Eebecca,” said the Tem- 
plar; "I have my own cause of grief, and brook not that 
thy reproaches should add to it.” 

"What is thy purpose, then. Sir Knight?” said the Jew- 
ess; "speak it briefly. — If thou hast aught to do, save to 
witness the misery thou hast caused, let me know it; and 
then, if so it please you, leave me to myself — the step between 
time and eternity is short but terrible, and I have few 
moments to prepare for it.” 

"I perceive, Eebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, "that thou dost 
continue to burden me with the charge of distresses, which 
most fain would I have prevented.” 

"Sir Knight,” said Eebecca, "I would avoid reproaches. 


IVANHOE. 


409 


But what is more certain than that I owe my death to thine 
unbridled passion T’ 

“You err — you err/’ — said the Templar, hastily, “if you 
impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my pur- 
pose or agency. — Could I guess the unexpected arrival of 
yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic valour, and the 
praises yielded by fools to the stupid self-torments of an 
ascetic, have raised for the present above his own merits, 
above common sense, above me, and above the hundreds of 
our Order, who think and feel as men free from such silly 
and fantastic prejudices as are the grounds of his opinions 
and actions?” 

“Yet,” said Eebecca, “you sate a judge upon me, innocent 
— most innocent — as you knew me to be — you concurred in 
my condemnation, and, if I aright understood, are yourself 
to appear in arms to assert my guilt, and assure my punish- 
ment.” * 

“Thy patience, maiden,” replied the Templar. — “Yo race 
knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to the time, 
and so to trim their bark as to make advantage even of an 
adverse wind.” 

“Lamented be the hour,” said Eebecca, “that has taught 
such art to the House of Israel! but adversity bends the 
heart as Are bends the stubborn steel, and those who are 
no longer their own governors, and the denizens of their 
own free independent state, must crouch before strangers. 
It is our curse. Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by our own 
misdeeds and those of our fathers; but you — ^you who boast 
your freedom as your birthright, how much deeper is your 
disgrace when you stoop to soothe the prejudices of others, 
and that against your own conviction?” 

“Your words are bitter, Eebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
pacing the apartment with impatience, “but I came not 
hither to bandy reproaches with you. — Know that Bois- 
Guilbert yields not to created man, although circumstances 
may for a time induce him to alter his plan. His will is 
the mountain stream, which may indeed be turned for a 
little space aside by the rock, but fails not to And its course 
to the ocean. That scroll which warned thee to demand 
a champion, from whom couldst thou think it came, if not 


410 


IVANHOE. 


from Bois-Guilbert ? In whom else couldst thou have excited 
such interest?” 

brief respite from instant death,” said Eebecca, ^Vhich 
will little avail me — was this all thou couldst do for one^ 
on whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and whom thou 
hast brought near even to the verge of the tomb?” 

^^No, maiden,” said Bois-Guilbert, ‘“^this was not all that I 
purposed. Had it not been for the accursed interference of 
yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodalricke, who, 
being a Templar, affects to think and judge according to 
the ordinary rules of humanity, the office of the Champion 
Defender had devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Com- 
panion of the Order. Then I myself — such was my pur- 
pose — had, on the sounding of the trumpet, appeared in 
the lists as thy champion, disguised indeed in the fashion 
of a roving krgght, who seeks adventure to prove his shield 
and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir have chosen not one, 
but two or three of the brethren here assembled, I had not 
doubted to cast them out of the saddle with my single lance. 
Thus, Eebecca, should thine innocence have been avouched, 
and to thine own gratitude would I have trusted for the 
reward of my victory.” 

^^This, Sir Knight,” said Eebecca, ^hs but idle boasting — 
a brag of what you would have done had you not found it 
convenient to do otherwise. You received my glove, and 
my champion, if a creature so desolate can find one, must 
encounter your lance in the lists — yet you would assume 
the air of my friend and protector!” 

^^Thy friend and protector,” said the Templar, gravely, 
‘T will yet be — ^but mark at what risk, or rather at what 
certainty, of dishonour; and then blame me not if I make 
my stipulations, before I offer up all that I have hitherto 
held dear, to save the life of a Jewish maiden.” 

^'Speak,” said Eebecca; 'T understand thee not.” 

''Well, then,” said Bois-Guilbert, "I will speak as freely 
as ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when 
placed in the tricky confessional. — Eebecca, if I appear not 
in these lists I lose fame and rank — lose that which is the 
breath of my nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in which I am 
held by my brethren, and the hopes I have of succeeding to 


IVANHOE. 


411 


that mighty authority, which is now wielded by the bigoted 
dotard Lucas de Beaumanoir, but of which I should make 
a far different use. Such is my certain doom, except I 
appear in arms against thy cause. Accursed be he of Good- 
alricke, who baited this trap for me! and doubly accursed 
Albert de Malvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution 
I had formed, of hurling back the glove at the face of the 
superstitious and superannuated fool, who listened to a charge 
so absurd, and against a creature so high in mind, and so 
lovely in form as thou art V’ 

^^And what now avails rant or flattery ?” answered Eebecca. 
^^Thou hast made thy choice between causing to be shed the 
blood of an innocent woman, or of endangering thine own 
earthly state and earthly hopes. What avails it to reckon 
together ? — thy choice is made.” 

^^No, Eebecca,” said the knight, in a softer tone, and 
drawing nearer towards her; ‘‘^my choice is not made — nay, 
mark, it is thine to make the election. If I appear in the 
lists, I must maintain my name in arms; and if I do so, 
championed or unchampioned, thou diest by the stake and 
fagot, for there lives not the knight who hath coped with 
me in arms on equal issue, or on terms of vantage, save 
Eichard Coeur-de-Lion, and his minion of Ivanhoe. Ivan- 
hoe, as thou well knowest, is unable to bear his corselet, and 
Eichard is in a foreign prison. If I appear, then thou 
diest, even although thy charms should instigate some hot- 
headed youth to enter the lists in thy defence.” 

^^And what avails repeating this so often?” said Eebecca. 

^^Much,” replied the Templar; ^Tor thou must learn to 
look at thy fate on every side.” 

^^Well. then, turn the tapestry,” said the Jewess, ^^and 
let me see the other side.” 

“If I appear,” said Bois-Guilbert, “in the fatal lists, thou 
diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as they say 
is destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I appear not, 
then am I a degraded and dishonoured knight, accused of 
witchcraft and of communion with infidels — the illustrious 
name, which has grown yet more so under my wearing, 
becomes a hissing and a reproach. I lose fame, I lose 
honour, I lose the prospect of such greatness as scarce em- 


412 


IVANHOE. 


perors attain to — I sacrifice mighty ambition, I destroy 
schemes built as high as the mountains with which heathens 
say their heaven was once nearly scaled — and yet, Eebecca,” 
he added, throwing himself at her feet, “this greatness will 
I sacrifice, this fame will I renounce, this power will I 
forego, even now when it is half within my grasp, if thou 
wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee for my lover/^ 

“Think not of such foolishness. Sir Knight,^’ answered 
Kebecca, “but hasten to the Eegent, the Queen Mother, and 
to Prince John — they cannot, in honour to the English 
crown, allow of the proceedings of your Grand Master. So 
shall you give me protection without sacrifice on your part, 
or the pretext of requiring any requital from me.’^ 

“With these I deal not,” he continued, holding the train 
of her robe — “it is thee only I address ; and what can coun- 
terbalance thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet 
death is a worse, and it is death who is my rival.” 

“I weigh not these evils,” said Eebecca, afraid to provoke 
the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to endure 
his passion, nor even feign to endure it. “Be a man, be a 
Christian ! If indeed thy faith recommends that mercy 
which rather your tongues than your actions pretend, save 
me from this dreadful death, without seeking a requital 
which would change thy magnanimity into base barter.” 

“No, damsel!” said the proud Templar, springing up, 
“thou shalt not thus impose on me — if I renounce present 
fame and future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, and 
we will escape in company. Listen to me, Eebecca,” he 
said, again softening his tone; “England, — Europe, — is not 
the world. There are spheres in which we may act, ample 
enough even for my ambition. We will go to Palestine, 
where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat, is my friend — a 
friend free as myself from the doting scruples which fetter 
our free-born reason — rather with Salad in will we league 
ourselves, than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we 
contemn. — I will form new paths to greatness,” he con- 
tinued, again traversing the room with hasty strides — 
“Europe shall hear the loud step of him she has driven from 
her sons! — Not the millions whom her crusaders send to 
slaughter, can do so much to defend Palestine — not the 


IVANHOE. 


413 


sabres of the thousands and ten thousands of Saracens can 
hew their way so deep into that land for which nations are 
striving, as the strength and policy of me and those brethren, 
who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will adhere to me in 
good and evil. Thou shalt be a queen, Eebecca — on Mount 
Carmel shall we pitch the throne which my valour will gain 
for you, and I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a 
sceptre 

dream,’’ said Eebecca; ^^an empty vision of the night, 
which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. Enough, 
that the power which thou mightest acquire, I will never 
share; nor hold I so light of country or religious faith, as 
to esteem him who is willing to barter these ties, and cast 
away the bonds of the Order, of which he is a sworn mem- 
ber, in order to gratify an unruly passion for the daughter 
of another people. — Put not a price on my deliverance. Sir 
Knight — sell not a deed of generosity — protect the oppressed 
for the sake of charity, and not for a selfish advantage. — Go 
to the throne of England; Eichard will listen to my appeal 
from these cruel men.” 

“Never, Eebecca!” said the Templar, fiercely. “If I re- 
nounce my Order, for thee alone will I renounce it. — 
Ambition shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love ; I will 
not be fooled on all hands. — Stoop my crest to Eichard? — 
ask a boon of that heart of pride? — Never, Eebecca, will I 
place the Order of the Temple at his feet in my person. 

I may forsake the Order, I never will degrade or betray it.” 

“Now God be gracious to me,” said Eebecca, “for the 
succour of man is well-nigh hopeless !” 

“It is indeed,” said the Templar; “for, proud as thou» 
art, thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter the lists 
with my spear in rest, think not any human consideration 
shall prevent my putting forth my strength; and think 
then upon thine own fate — to die the dreadful death of the 
worst of criminals — to be consumer upon a blazing pile — 
dispersed to the elements of which our strange forms are 
so mystically composed — not a relic left of that graceful 
frame, from which we could say this lived and moved! — 
Eebecca, it is not in woman to sustain this prospect — thou 
wilt yield to my suit.” 


414 


IVANHOE. 


^^Bois-Guilbert/’ answered the Jewess, ^^thou knowest 
not the heart of woman, or hast only conversed with those 
who are lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, prond Templar, 
that not in thy fiercest battles hast thou displayed more of 
thy vaunted courage than has been shown by woman when 
called upon to suffer by affection or duty. I am myself a 
woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally fearful of danger, and 
impatient of pain — yet, when we enter those fatal lists, thou 
to fight and I to suffer, I feel the strong assurance within 
me that my courage shall mount higher than thine. Fare- 
well — I waste no more words on thee; the time that remains 
on earth to the daughter of Jacob must be otherwise spent — 
she must seek the Comforter, who may hide his face from his 
people, but who ever opens his ear to the cry of those who 
seek him in sincerity and in truth.” 

^^We part then thus?” said the Templar, after a short 
pause; ^Vould to Heaven that we had never met, or that 
thou hadst been noble in birth and Christian in faith ! — 
Hay, by Heaven! when I gaze on thee, and think when and 
how we are next to meet, I could even wish myself one of 
thine own degraded nation; my hand conversant with ingots 
and shekels, instead of spear and shield; my head bent down 
before each petty noble, and my look only terrible to the 
shivering and bankrupt debtor, — this could I wish, Eebecca, 
to be near to thee in life, and to escape the fearful share I 
must have in thy death.” 

^^Thou hast spoken the Jew,” said Eebecca, ^^as the per- 
secution of such as thou art has made him. Heaven in ire 
has driven him from his country, but industry has opened 
to him the only road to power and to influence, which oppres- 
sion has left unbarred. Eead the ancient history of the 
people of God, and tell me if those, by whom Jehovah 
wrought such marvels among the nations, were then a 
people, of misers and usurers I — And know, proud knight, 
we number names amongst us to which your boasted north- 
ern nobility is as the gourd compared with the cedar — ^names 
that ascend far back to those high times when the Divine 
Presence shook the mercy-seat between the cherubim,^ and 

1 The oldest and most sacred of the The mercy-seat was of pure gold on the 
religious symbols of the ancient Israelites top of the ark. The cherubim were two 
was the Ark of the Coivenant, an oblong winged symbolic figures in gold, one at 

each end of the mercy seat. Exodus 


chest of acacia wood overlaid with gold, 
made by Moses at God’s command. 


xxv; 10-20. 


IVANHOE. 


415 


which derive their splendour from no earthly prince, but 
from the awful Voice, which bade their fathers be nearest 
of the congregation to the Vision. Such were the princes of 
the House of Jacob. 

Eebecca’s colour rose as she boasted the ancient glories of 
her race, but faded as she added, with a sigh, ‘^Such were 
the princes of J udah, now such no more ! — They are trampled 
down like the shorn grass, and mixed with the mire of the 
ways. Yet are there those among them who shame not 
such high descent, and of such shall be the daughter of 
Isaac the son of Adonikam ! Farewell ! — I envy not thy 
hlood-won honours — I envy not thy barbarous descent from 
northern heathens — I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever 
in thy mouth, but never in thy heart nor in thy practice.’^ 

“There is a spell on me, by Heaven!’’ said Bois-Guilbert. 
“I almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, and that 
the reluctance with which I part from thee hath something 
in it more than is natural. — Fair creature !” he said 
approaching near her, but with great respect, — “so young, 
so beautiful, so fearless of death! and yet doomed to die, 
and with infamy and agony. Who would not weep for 
thee? — The tear, that has been a stranger to these eyelids 
for twenty years, moistens them as I gaze on thee. But it 
must be — nothing may now save thy life. Thou and I are 
but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality that 
hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the 
storm, which are dashed against each other, and so perish. 
Forgive me, then, and let us part at least as friends part. 
I have assailed thy resolution in vain, and mine own is fixed 
as the adamantine decrees of fate.” 

“Thus,” said Eebecca, “do men throw on fate the issue 
of their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, Bois- 
Guilbert, though the author of my early death. There are 
noble things which cross over thy powerful mind; but it 
is the garden of the sluggard, and the weeds have rushed 
up, and conspired to choke the fair and wholesome blossom.” 

“Yes,” said the Templar, “I am, Eebecca, as thou hast 
spoken me, untaught, untamed — and proud, that, amidst a 
shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained the 
pre-eminent fortitude that places me above them. I have 


416 


IVANHOE. 


been a child of battle from my youth upward, high in my 
views, steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such must I 
remain — proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and of this the 
world shall have proof.— But thou forgivest me, Eebecca?” 

^^As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.’^ 

^‘Farewell, then,” said the Templar, and left the apart- 
ment. 

The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent 
chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert. 

^^Thou hast tarried long,” he said; have been as if 
stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. What if the 
Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had come hither? I 
had paid dear for my complaisance. — But what ails thee, 
brother? — Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night. 
Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert?” 

^^Ay,” answered the Templar, ^^as well as the wretch who 
is doomed to die within an hour. — Nay, by the rood, not 
half so well — for there be those in such state, who can lay 
down life like a cast-off garment. By Heaven, Malvoisin, yon- 
der girl hath well-nigh unmanned me. I am half resolved 
to go to the Grand Master, abjure the Order to his very teeth, 
and refuse to act the brutality which his tyranny has imposed 
on me.” 

‘^Thou art mad,” answered Malvoisin; ^Thou mayst thus 
indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even And a chance 
thereby to save the life of this Jewess, which seems so 
precious in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name another of 
the Order to defend his judgment in thy place, and the 
accused will as assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken the 
duty imposed on thee.” 

'^’Tis false — I will myself take arms in her behalf,” 
answered the Templar, haughtily; ^^and, should I do so, I 
think, Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the Order 
who will keep his saddle before the point of my lance.” 

'"Ay, but thou forgettest,” said the wily adviser, "thou 
wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this mad 
project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou hast 
renounced thy vow of obedience, and see how long the des- 
potic old man will leave thee in personal freedom. The 
words shall scarce have left thy lips ere thou wilt either be 


IVANHOE. 


417 


an hundred feet underground, in the dungeon of the Pre- 
ceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight; or, if his opinion 
holds concerning thy possession, thou wilt be enjoying straw, 
darkness, and chains in some distant convent cell, stunned 
with exorcisms, and drenched with holy water, to expel the 
foul fiend which hath obtained dominion over thee. Thou 
must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a lost and dishonoured 
man.^’ 

^‘1 will break forth and fiy,” said Bois-Guilbert, — ^‘fiy to 
some distant land, to which folly and fanaticism have not 
yet found their way. No drop of the blood of this most 
excellent creature shall be spilled by my sanction.” 

“Thou canst not fiy,” said the Preceptor; “thy ravings 
have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to 
leave the Preceptory. Go and make the essay — present thy- 
self before the gate, and. command the bridge to be lowered, 
and mark what answer thou shalt receive. — Thou art sur- 
prised and offended; but is it not the better for thee? Wert 
thou to fly, what would ensue but the reversal of thy arms, 
the dishonour of thine ancestry, the degradation of thy 
rank? — Think on it. Where shall thine old companions in 
arms hide their heads when Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the best 
lance of the Templars, is proclaimed recreant, amid the 
hisses of the assembled people? What grief will be at the 
Court of France! With what joy will the haughty Richard 
hear the news, that the knight that set him hard in Pales- 
tine, and well-nigh darkened his renown, has lost fame and 
honour for a Jewish girl, whom he could not even save by 
so costly a sacrifice !” 

“Malvoisin,” said the Knight, “I thank thee — thou hast 
touched the string at which my heart most readily thrills ! 
— Come of it what may, recreant shall never be added to the 
name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, Richard, or any of 
his vaunting minions of England, would appear in these 
lists I But they will be empty — no one will risk to break a 
lance for the innocent, the forlorn.” 

“The better for thee, if it prove so,” said the Preceptor; 
“if no champion appears, it is not by thy means that 
this unlucky damsel shall die, but by the doom of 


418 


IVANHOE. 


the Grand Master, with whom rests all the blame and 
who will count that blame for praise and commendation.” 

"'True,” said Bois-Guilbert ; "if no champion appears, I 
am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horseback 
in the lists, but having no part in what is to follow.” 

"None whatever,” said Malvoisin; "no more than the 
armed image of Saint George when it makes part of a 
procession.” 

"Well, I will resume my resolution,” replied the haughty 
Templar. "She has despised me — repulsed me — reviled me. 
— And wherefore should I offer up for her whatever of esti- 
mation I have in the opinion of others? Malvoisin, I will 
appear in the lists.” 

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, 
and the Preceptor followed, to watch and confirm him in 
his resolution; for in Bois-GuilberPs fame he had himself 
a strong interest, expecting much advantage from his being 
-one day at the head of the Order, not to mention the prefer- 
ment of which Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on condi- 
tion he would forward the condemnation of the unfortunate 
Eebecca. Yet although, in combating his friend’s better 
feelings, he possessed all the advantage which a wily, com- 
posed, selfish disposition has over a man agitated by strong 
and contending passions, it required all Malvoisin’s art to 
keep Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he had prevailed 
on him to adopt. He was obliged to watch him closely to 
prevent his resuming his purpose of flight, to intercept his 
-communication with the Grand Master, lest he should come 
to an open rupture with his Superior, and to renew, from 
time to time, the various arguments by which he endeavoured 
to show, that, in appearing as champion on this occasion, 
Bois-Guilbert, . without either accelerating or ensuring the 
fate of Eebecca, would follow the only course by which he 
could save himself from degradation and disgrace. 


IVANHOE. 


419 


CHAPTEK XL 

IVANHOE AT ST. BOTOLPH’S. THE BLACK KNIGHT AND HIS GUIDE, 
TRAVELING TO CONINGSBURGH. CLERKS OF ST. NICHOLAS. THE 
BLUE KNIGHT. RICHARD OP ENGLAND. 

When the Black Knight — for it becomes necessary to 
resume the train of his adventures — left the Trysting-tree^ 
of the generous Outlaw, he held his way straight to a 
neighbouring religious house, of small extent and revenue^ 
called the Priory of St. Botolph, to which the wounded Ivan- 
hoe had been removed when the castle was taken, under the 
guidance of the Faithful Gurth and the magnanimous Wamba. 
It is unnecessary at present to mention what took place in 
the interim bewixt Wilfred and his deliverer; suffice it to 
say, that after long and grave communication, messengers 
were dispatched by the Prior in several directions, and that 
on the succeeding morning the Black Knight was about to 
set forth on his journey, accompanied by the jester Wamba, 
who attended as his guide. 

‘^We will meet,” he said to Ivanhoe, ^^at Coningsburgh, 
the castle of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy father 
Cedric holds the funeral feast for his noble relation. I 
would see your Saxon kindred together. Sir Wilfred, and 
become better acquainted with them than heretofore. Thou 
also wilt meet me; and it shall be my task to reconcile thee 
to thy father.” 

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, 
who expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. 
But the Black Knight would not listen to the proposal. 

^^Eest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to 
travel on the next. I will have no guide with me but honest 
Wamba, who can play priest or fool as I shall be most in the 
humour.” 

. “And I,” said Wamba, “will attend you with all , my 
heart. I would fain see the feasting at the funeral of Athel- 
stane; for, if it be not full and frequent, he will rise from 
the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and cupbearer; and that 
were a sight worth seeing. Always, Sir Knight, I will trust 

1 See p. 323. 


420 


IVANHOE. 


your valour with making my excuse to my master Cedric, 
in case mine own wit should fail/^ 

^‘And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir Jester, 
when thy light wit halts? — resolve me that/^ 

^^Wit, Sir Knight,’’ replied the Jester, ^^may do much. 
He is a quick, apprehensive knave who sees his neighbour’s 
blind side, and knows how to keep the lee-gage^ when his 
passions are blowing high. But valour is a sturdy fellow, 
that makes all split. He rows against both wind and tide, 
and makes way notwithstanding; and, therefore, good Sir 
Knight, while I take advantage of the fair weather in our 
noble master’s temper, I will expect you to bestir yourself 
when it grows rough.” 

‘^Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure 
so to be distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, fear me you have 
chosen a talkative and a troublesome fool to be your guide. 
But he knows every path and alley in the woods as well as 
e’er a hunter who frequents them; and the poor knave, as 
thou hast partly seen, is as .faithful as steel.” 

^^Kay,” said the Knight, ‘^an he have the gift of showing 
my road, I shall not grumble with him that he desires to 
make it pleasant. — Fare thee well, kind Wilfred — I charge 
thee not to attempt to travel till to-morrow at earliest.” 

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed 
it to his lips, took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, 
and departed, with Wamba for his companion. Ivanhoe 
followed them with his eyes, until they were lost in the 
shades of the surrounding forest, and then returned into 
the convent. 

But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the 
Prior. The old man came in haste, and enquired anxiously 
after the state of his health. 

"Tt is better,” he said, “than my fondest hope could have 
anticipated; either my wound has been slighter than the 
effusion of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam hath 
wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel already as if I 
could bear my corselet ; and so much the better, for thoughts 
pass in my mind which render me unwilling to remain here 
longer in inactivity.” 

' safe or sheltered side. 


IVANHOE. 


421 


^^ISTow, the saints forbid,” said the Prior, ^^that the son 
of the Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds 
were healed ! It were shame to our profession were we to 
suffer it.” 

‘^Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable 
father,” said Ivanhoe, “did I not feel myself able to endure the 
journey, and compelled to undertake it.” 

“And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure ?” 
said the Prior. 

“Have you never, holy father,” answered the Knight, 
^ffelt an apprehension of approaching evil, for which you 
in vain attempted to assign a cause? — Have you never found 
your mind darkened, like the sunny landscape, by the sud- 
den cloud, which augurs a coming tempest? — And thinkest 
thou not that such impulses are deserving of attention, as 
being the hints of our guardian spirits, that danger is im- 
pending?” 

“I may not deny,” said the Prior, crossing himself, “that 
such things have been, and have been of Heaven; but then 
such communications have had a visibly useful scope and 
tendency. But thou, wounded as thou art, what avails it 
thou shouldst follow the steps of him whom thou couldst 
not aid, were he to be assaulted?” 

“Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “thou dost mistake — I am stout 
enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge me 
to such a traffic. — But were it otherwise, may I not aid him 
were he in danger, by other means than by force of arms? 
It is but too well known that the Saxons love not the Nor- 
man race, and who knows what may be the issue, if he break 
in upon them when their hearts are irritated by the death 
of Athelstane, and their heads heated by the carousal in 
which they will indulge themselves? I hold his entrance 
among them at such a moment most perilous, and I am 
resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that I may 
the better do, I would crave of thee the use of some palfrey 
whose pace may be softer than that of my destrier/''^ 

“Surely,” said the worthy churchman; “you shall have 
mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy 
for your sake as that of the Abbot of Saint Albans. Yet 

^ heavy-warhorse 


422 


IVANHOE. 


this will I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless you 
were to borrow a ride on the juggler’s steed that paces a 
horn-pipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a journey on 
a creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I have composed 
many a homily on her back, to the edification of my brethren 
of the convent, and of many poor Christian souls.” 

pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, ^fiet Malkin 
be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine 
arms.” 

‘‘Nay, but fair sir,” said the Prior, “I pray you to remem- 
ber that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her master, 
and that I warrant not her enduring the sight or weight of 
your full panoply. 0, Malkin, I promise you, is a beast of 
judgment, and will contend against any undue weight — I 
did but borrow the Fructus Temporum from the priest of 
Saint Bees, and I promise you she would not stir from the 
gate until I had exchanged the huge volume for my little 
breviary.” 

“Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “I will not dis- 
tress her with too much weight; and if she calls a combat 
with me, it is odds but she has the worst.” 

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the 
Knight’s heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of con- 
vincing any restive horse that his best safety lay in being^ 
conformable to the will of his rider. 

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels 
were now armed, began to make the worthy Prior repent of 
his courtesy, and ejaculate, — ‘^Nay, but fair sir, now I 
bethink me, my Malkin abideth not the spur. Better it were 
that you tarry for the mare of our manciple’^ down at the 
Grange, which may be had in little more than an hour, and 
cannot but be tractable, in respect that she draweth much 
of our winter firewood, and eateth no corn.” 

“I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your 
first offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. 
Gurth shall carry mine armour; and for the rest, rely on 
it, that as I will not overload Malkin’s back, she shall not 
overcome "my patience. And now, farewell!’^ 

^ steward, provider of food. 


IVANHOE. 


423 


Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily 
than his wound promised, and threw himself upon the jen- 
net, eager to escape the importunity of the Prior, who stuck 
as closely to his side as his age and fatness would permit, 
now singing the praises of Malkin, now recommending 
caution to the Knight in managing her. 

‘‘She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as well 
as mares,” said the old man, laughing at his own jest, “being 
barely in her fifteenth year.” 

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand can- 
vassing a palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a deaf 
ear to the Prior’s grave advices and facetious jests, and 
having leapt on his mare, and commanded his squire (for 
such Gurth now called himself) to keep close by his side, he 
followed the track of the Black Knight into the forest, while 
the Prior stood at the gate of the convent looking after him 
and ejaculating, — “Saint Mary! how prompt and fiery be 
these men of war ! I would I had not trusted Malkin to 
his keeping, for, crippled as I am with the cold rheum, I 
am undone if aught but good befalls her. And yet,” said 
he, recollecting himself, “as I would spare my own old and 
disabled limbs in the good cause of Old England, so Malkin 
must e’en run her hazard on the same venture; and it may 
be they think our poor house worthy of some munificent 
guerdon — or, it may be, they will send the old Prior a 
pacing nag. And if they do none of these, as great men will 
forget little men’s service, truly I shall hold me well repaid 
in having done that which is right. And it is now well-nigh 
the fitting time to summon the brethren to breakfast in the 
refectory. — Ah! I doubt they obey that call more cheerily 
than the bells for primes and matins.” 

So the Prior of Saint Botolph’s hobbled back again into 
the refectory, to preside over the stock-fish and ale, which 
was just serving out for the friars’ breakfast. Pursy and 
important, he sat him down at the table, and many a dark 
word he threw out, of benefits to be expected to the convent, 
and high deeds of service done by himself, which, at another 
season, would have attracted observation. But as the stock- 
fish was highly salted, and the ale reasonably powerful, the 
jaws of the brethren were too anxiously employed to admit 


424 


IVANHOE. 


of their making much use of their ears; nor do we read of 
any of the fraternity, who was tempted to speculate upon 
the mysterious hints of their Superior, except Father Dig- 
gory, who was severely afflicted by the toothache, so that 
he could only eat on one side of his jaws. 

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide 
were pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the 
forest; the good Knight whiles humming to himself the lay 
of some enamoured troubadour, sometimes encouraging by 
questions the prating disposition of his attendant, so that 
their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song and. jest, 
of which we would fain give our readers some idea. You 
are then to imagine this Knight, such as we have already 
described him, strong of person, tall, broad-shouldered, and 
large of bone, mounted on his mighty black charger, which 
seemed made on purpose to bear his weight, so easily he 
paced forward under it, having the visor of his helmet 
raised, in order to admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the 
beaver, or under part, closed, so that his features could be 
but imperfectly distinguished. But his ruddy embrowned 
cheek-bones could be plainly seen, and the large and bright 
eyes, that flashed from under the dark shade of the raised 
visor; and the whole gesture and look of the champion ex- 
pressed careless gaiety and fearless confldence — a mind which 
was unapt to apprehend danger, and prompt to defy it, when 
most imminent — ^yet with whom danger was a familiar 
thought, as with one whose trade was war and adventure. 

The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late acci- 
dents had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead 
of his wooden sword, with a targe to match it ; of both which 
weapons he had, notwithstanding his profession, shown 
himself a skilful master during the storming of Torquil- 
stone. Indeed, the infirmity of Wamba’s brain consisted 
chiefly in a kind of impatient irritability, which suffered 
him not long to remain quiet in any posture, or adhere to 
any certain train of ideas, althougli he was for a few minutes 
alert enough in performing any immediate task, or in ap- 
prehending any immediate topic. On horseback, therefore, 
he was perpetually swinging himself backwards and for- 
wards, now on the horse’s ears, then anon on the very rump 


IVANHOE. 


425 


of the animal, now hanging both his legs on one side, and 
now sitting with his face to the tail, moping, mowing, and 
making a thousand apish gestures, until his palfrey took 
his freaks so much to heart, as fairly to lay him at his 
length on the green grass — an incident which greatly amused 
the Knight but compelled his companion to ride more- 
steadily thereafter. 

At the point of their journey at which we take them up, 
this joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai,^ as it was 
called, in which the clown bore a mellow burden, to the 
better instructed Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus ran 
the ditty: — 

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna-Marie, love, more is begun. 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn. 

The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. 

Wamba. 

0 Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet. 

Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit, 

For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 

Compared with these visions, 0, Tybalt, my love? 

Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, 

Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill. 

Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, — 

But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

^^A dainty song/^ said Wamba, when they had finished 
their carol, ‘^and I swear by my bauble, a pretty moral ! — 
I used to sing it with Gurth, once my playfellow, and now, 
by the grace of God and his master, no less than a freeman; 
and we once came by the cudgel for being so entranced by 
the melody, that we lay in bed two hours after sunrise, sing- 
ing the ditty betwixt sleeping and waking — my bones ache 
at thinking of the tune ever since. Nevertheless, I have 
played the part of Anna-Marie, to please you, fair sir.’’ 

* old French song of peculiar verse-form. Scott’s ditty does not attempt to 
imitate it. 


426 


IVANHOE. 


The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic 
ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied in 
the like manner. 


Knight and Wamba. 

There came three merry men from south, west, and north, 

Ever more sing the roundelay; 

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth. 

And where was the widow might say them nay? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came. 

Ever more sing the roundelay; 

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame, 

And where was the widow might say him nay? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, 

He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay; ( 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire. 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 

Wamba 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails. 

Merrily sing the roundelay; 

Hur’s a gentleman, God wot, and hur’s lineage was of Wales. 
And where was the widow might say him nay? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few. 

And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next come a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jollily singing his roundelay; 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent. 

And where was the widow could say him nay? 

Both 

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 

There for to sing their roundelay; 

For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent. 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 

‘T would, Wamba,’’ said the Knight, ^That our host of 
the Trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard 
this thy ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.” 


IVANHOE. 


427 


would not said Wamba — ^d)ut for the horn that 
hangs at your baldric/’ 

“Ay,” said the Knight, — “this is a pledge of Locksley’s 
good-will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots on 
this bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our need, a 
jolly band of yonder honest yeomen.” 

“I would say. Heaven forefend,” said the Jester, “were 
it not that that fair gift is a pledge they would let us pass 
peaceably.” 

“Why, what meanest thou?” said the Emight; “thinkest 
thou that but for this pledge of fellowship they would 
assault us?” 

“Nay, for me I say nothing,” said Wamba; “for green 
trees have ears as well as stone walls. But canst thou con- 
strue me this, Sir Knight — When is thy wine-pitcher and 
thy purse better empty than full?” 

“Why, never, I think,” replied the Knight. 

“Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, for 
so simple an answer ! Thou hadst best empty thy pitcher 
ere thou pass it to the Saxon, and leave thy money at home ere 
thou walk in the greenwood.” 

“You hold our friends for robbers, then?” said the 
Knight of the Fetterlock. 

“You hear me not say so, fair sir,” said Wamba; “it may 
relieve a poor man’s steed to take oft his mail when he hath a 
long journey to make; and, certes, it may do good to the 
rider’s soul to ease him of that which is the root of evil; 
therefore will I give no hard names to those who do such 
services. Only I would wish my mail at home, and my purse 
in my chamber, when I meet with these good fellows, because 
it might save them some trouble.” 

‘‘We are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwith- 
standing the fair character thou dost afford them.” 

“Pray for them with all my heart,” said Wamba; ^T)ut 
in the town, not in the greenwood, like the Abbot of Saint 
Bees, whom they caused to say mass with an old hollow 
oak-tree for his stall.” 

“Say as thou list, Wamba,” replied the Knight, “these yeo- 
men did thy master Cedric yeomanly service at Torquilstone.” 


428 


IVANHOE. 


truly/^ answered Wamba; ^^bnt that was in the 
fashion of their trade with Heaven/’ 

^^Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that?” replied 
Jiis companion. 

^‘Marry, thus,” said the Jester. “They make up a bal- 
anced account with Heaven, as our old cellarer used to call 
liis ciphering, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with his debtors, 
and, like him, give out a very little, and take large credit 
for doing so; reckoning, doubtless, on their own behalf the 
seven-fold usury which the blessed text hath promised to 
charitable loans.” 

“Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba, — I know 
nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,” answered the Knight. 

“Why,” said Wamba, “an your valour be so dull, you will 
please to learn that those honest fellows balance a good 
deed with one not quite so laudable; as a crown given to 
a begging friar with an hundred byzants taken from a fat 
abbot, or a wench kissed in the greenwood with the relief 
of a poor widow.” 

“Which of these was the good deed, which was the 
felony?” interrupted the Knight. 

“A good gibe ! a good gibe I” said Wamba ; “keeping witty 
company sharpeneth the apprehension. You said nothing 
so well. Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when you held drunken 
vespers with the bluff Hermit. — But to go on. The merry- 
men of the forest set off the building of a cottage with the 
burning of a castle, — the thatching of a choir against the 
robbing of a church, — the setting free a poor prisoner against 
the murder of a proud sheriff; or, to come nearer to our 
point, the deliverance of a Saxon franklin against the burn- 
ing alive of a Norman baron. Gentle thieves they are, in 
short, and courteous robbers; but it is ever the luckiest to 
meet with them when they are at the worst.” 

“How so, Wamba?” said the Knight. 

“Why, then, they have some compunction, and are for 
making up matters with Heaven. But when they have 
struck an even balance. Heaven help them with whom they 
next open the account! The travellers who first met them 
after their good service at Torquilstone would have a woful 
flaying. — And yet,” said Wamba, coming close up to the 


IVANHOE. 


429 


Knight^s side, ^“^there be companions who are far more dan- 
gerous for travellers to meet than yonder outlaws/^ 

“And who may they be, for you have neither bears nor 
wolves, I trow?’^ said the Knight. 

“Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin’s men-at-arms,^^ said 
Wamba; “and let me tell you, that, in time of civil war, a 
halfscore of these is worth a band of wolves at any time. They 
are now expecting their harvest, and are reinforced with the 
soldiers that escaped from Torquilstone. So that, should we 
meet with a band of them, we are like to pay for our feats of 
arms. — Now, I pray you. Sir Knight, what would you do if 
we met two of them?’’ 

“Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, if 
they offered us any impediment.” 

“But what if there were four of them?” 

“They should drink of the same cup,” answered the Knight. 

“What if six,” continued Wamba, “and we as we now are, 
barely two — would you not remember Locksley’s horn?” 

“What! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, “against a 
score of such rascaille^ as these, whom one good knight could 
drive before him, as the wind drives the withered leaves?” 

“Nay, then,” said Wamba, “I will pray you for a close sight 
of that same horn that hath so powerful a breath.” 

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged his 
fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round his 
own neck. 

“Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes; “nay, I know 
my gamut as well as another.” 

“How mean you, knave ?” said the Knight ; “restore me the 
bugle.” 

“Content you. Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When 
Valour and Folly travel. Folly should bear the horn, because 
she can blow the best.” 

“Nay, but rogue,” said the Black Knight, “this exceedeth 
thy license. Beware ye tamper not with my patience.” 

“Urge me not with violence. Sir Knight,” said the Jester, 
keeping at a distance from the impatient champion, “or Folly 
will show a clean pair* of heels, and leave Valour to find out 
his way through the wood as best he may.” 

1 unprincipled fellows, rascals. 


430 


IVANHOE. 


thou hast hit me there/^ said the Knight; ^^and, 
sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with thee. Keep the 
horn an thou wilt, but let us proceed on our journey.^^ 

^‘You will not harm me, then?” said Wamba. 
tell thee no, thou knave!” 

^^Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” continued 
Wamba, as he approached with great caution. 

^‘My knightly word I pledge ! only come on with thy foolish 
self.” 

^^Kay, then. Valour and Folly are once more boon compan- 
ions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to the KnighFs 
side; ^^but, in truth, I love not such buffets as that you 
bestowed on the burly Friar, when his holiness rolled on the 
green like a king of the nine-pins. And now that Folly wears 
the horn, let Valour rouse himself, and shake his mane; for, 
if I mistake not, there are company in yonder brake that are 
on the look-out for us.” 

^‘What makes thee judge so?” said the Knight. 

^^Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a 
morrion^ from amongst the green leaves. Had they been hon- 
est men, they had kept the path. But yonder thicket is a 
choice chapel for the Clerks of Saint Nicholas.”^ 

“By my faith,” said the Knight, closing his visor, “I think 
thou be’st in the right on’t.” 

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows flew at 
the same instant from the suspected spot against his head and 
breast, one of which would have penetrated to the brain, had 
it not been turned aside by the steel visor. The other two 
were averted by the gorget, and by the shield which hung 
around his neck. 

“Thanks, trusty armourer,” said the Knight. — “Wamba, let 
us close with them,” — and he rode straight to the thicket. 
He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who ran against 
him with their lances at full career. Three of the weapons 
struck against him, and splintered with as little ' effect as if 
they had been driven against a tower of steel. The Black 
Knight’s eyes seemed to flash fire even through the aperture 
of his visor. He raised himself on his stirrups with an air 
of inexpressible dignity, and exclaimed, “What means this, 

* helmet having no visor. 2 See note, p. 112. 


IVANHOE. 


431 


my masters !” — The men made no other reply than by draw- 
ing their swords and attacking him on every side, crying, 
^^Die, tyrant!^’ 

‘‘Ha ! Saint Edward ! Ha ! Saint George V’ said the Black 
Kmight, striking down a man at every invocation; “have we 
traitors here?’’ 

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from an 
arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed as if the 
terror of his single strength was about to gain the battle 
against such odds, when a knight, in blue armour, who had 
hitherto kept himself behind the other assailants, spurred 
forward with his lance, and taking aim, not at the rider but 
at the steed, wounded the noble animal mortally. 

“That was a felon stroke!” exclaimed the Black Knight, 
as the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider along with 
him. 

And at this moment, Wamba winded the bugle, for the 
whole had passed so speedily, that he had not time to do so 
sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers bear back 
once more, and Wamba, though so imperfectly weaponed, did 
not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black Knight to rise. 

“Shame on ye, false cowards I” exclaimed he in the blue 
harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, “do ye fly from 
the empty blast of a horn blown by a jester?” 

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight 
anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against an 
oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon knight, 
who had taken another spear, watching the moment when his 
formidable antagonist was most closely pressed, galloped 
against him in hopes to nail him with his lance against the 
tree, when his purpose was again intercepted by Wamba. The 
Jester, making up by agility the want of strength, and little 
noticed by the men-at-arms, who were busied in their more 
important object, hovered on the skirts of the fight, and 
effectually checked the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by 
hamstringing^ his horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse 
and man went to the ground ; yet the situation of the Knight 
of the Fetterlock continued very precarious, as he was pressed 
close by several men completely armed, and began to be 

1 cutting the tendons of the leg. 


432 


IVANHOE. 


fatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defend himself 
on so many points at nearly the same moment, when a grey- 
goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth one of the most 
formidable of his assailants, and a band of yeomen broke 
forth from the glade, headed by Locksley and the jovial Friar, 
who, taking ready and effectual part in the fray, soon disposed 
of the ruffians, all of whom lay on the spot dead or mortally 
wounded. The Black Knight thanked his deliverers with a 
dignity they had not observed in his former bearing, which 
hitherto had seemed rather that of a blunt bold soldier, than 
of a person of exalted rank. 

^Tt concerns me much,^^ he said, ^^even before I express my 
full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, who 
have been my unprovoked enemies. — Open the visor of that 
Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief of these villains.” 

The J ester instantly made up to the leader of the assassins, 
who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under the wounded 
steed, lay incapable either of flight or resistance. 

‘‘Come, valiant sir,” said Wamba, “I must be your armourer 
as well as your equerry — I have dismounted you, and now I 
will unhelm you.” 

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet 
of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the grass, 
displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled locks, and 
a countenance he did not expect to have seen under such 
circumstances. 

“Waldemar Fitzurse!” he said in astonishment; “what 
could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul an 
undertaking 

“Eichard,” said the captive Knight, looking up to him, 
“thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not to what 
ambition and revenge can lead every child of Adam.” 

“Kevenge !” answered the Black Knight ; “I never wronged 
thee. — On me thou hast nought to revenge.” 

“My daughter, Eichard, whose alliance thou didst scorn — 
was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood is noble as thine 
own ?” 

“Thy daughter?” replied the Black Knight; “a proper 
cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody issue ! — Stand 

> See p. 358 — the perilous enterprise he undertook. 


IVANHOE. 


433 


back, my masters, I would speak to him alone. — And now, 
Waldemar Fitznrse, say me the truth — confess who set thee 
on this traitorous deed.” 

^^Thy father’s son,” answered Waldemar, ‘Vho, in so doing, 
did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy father.” 

Eichard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better 
nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against his brow, 
and remained an instant gazing on the face of the humbled 
baron, in whose features pride was contending with shame. 

‘‘Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar,” said the King. 

“He that is in the lion’s clutch,” answered Fitzurse, “knows 
it were needless.” 

“Take it, then, unasked,” said Eichard ! “the lion preys not 
on prostrate carcasses. — Take thy life, but with this condition, 
that in three days thou shalt leave England, and go to hide 
thine infamy in thy Korman castle, and that thou wilt never 
mention the name of John of Anjou as connected with thy 
felony. If thou art found on English ground after the space 
I have allotted thee, thou diest — or if thou breathcst aught 
than can attaint the honour of my house, by Saint George ! 
not the altar itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out 
to feed the ravens, from the very pinnacle of thine own castle. 
— Let this knight have a steed, Locksley, for I see your yeo- 
men have caught those which were running loose, and let him 
depart unharmed.” 

“But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests must 
not be disputed,” answered the yeoman, “I would send a shaft 
after the skulking villain that should spare him the labour 
of a long journey.” 

“Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,” said the Black 
Knight, “and well dost judge thou art the more bound to 
obey my behest — I am Eichard of England !” 

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited to 
the high rank and no less distinguished character of Coeur- 
de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down before him, and 
at the same time tendered their allegiance, and implored par- 
don for their offences. 

“Eise, my friends,” said Eichard, in a gracious tone, look- 
ing on them with a countenance in which his habitual good- 
humour had already conquered the blaze of hasty resentment. 


434 


IVANHOE. 


and whose features retained no mark of the late desperate 
conflict, excepting the flush arising from exertion, — ^^Arise,^^ 
he said, ^‘my friends! — Your misdemeanours, whether in 
forest or field, have been atoned by the loyal services you 
rendered my distressed subjects before the walls of Torquil- 
stone, and the rescue you have this day afforded to your 
sovereign. Arise, my liegemen, and be good subjects in 
future. — And thou, brave Locksley — ’’ 

‘^Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me under 
the name, which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely not to 
have reached even your royal ears — I am Eobin Hood of Sher- 
wood Forest.” 

‘‘King of Outlaws, and Prince of good fellows !” said the 
King, “who hath not heard a name that has been borne as far 
as Palestine ? But be assured, brave Outlaw, that no deed done 
in our absence, and in the turbulent times to which it hath 
given rise, shall be remembered to thy disadvantage.” 

“True says the proverb,” said Wamba, interposing his word^ 
but with some abatement of his usual petulance, — 

“ ‘ When the cat is away, 

The mice will play.’” 

“What, Wamba, art thou there?” said Eichard; “I have 
been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken 
flight.” 

“I take flight!” said Wamba; “when do you ever find Folly 
separated from Valour? There lies the trophy of my sword, 
that good grey gelding, whom I heartily wish upon his legs 
again, conditioning his master lay there houghed in his place. 
It is true, I gave a little ground at first, for a motley jacket 
does not brook lance-heads, as a steel doublet will. But if I 
fought not at sword’s point, you will grant me that I sounded 
the onset.” 

“And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the King. 
“Thy good service shall not be forgotten.” 

''Confiteor! Confiteorr — exclaimed, in a submissive tone, 
a voice near the King’s side — “my Latin will carry me no 
farther — but I confess my deadly treason, and pray leave to 
have absolution before I am led to execution !” 

Eichard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on his 


IVANHOE. 


435 


knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which had 
not been idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass beside him. 
His countenance was gathered so as he thought might best 
express the most profound contrition, his eyes being turned 
up, and the corners of his mouth drawn down, as Wamba 
expressed it, like the tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet 
this demure affectation of extreme penitence was whimsically 
belied by a ludicrous meaning which lurked in his huge 
features, and seemed to pronounce his fear and repentance 
alike hypocritical. 

‘Tor what art thou cast down, mad Priest T’ said Eichard ; 
“art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn how truly thou 
dost serve Our Lady and Saint Dunstan? — Tush, man! fear 
it not ; Eichard of England betrays no secrets that pass over 
the flagon.” 

“Nay, most gracious soverign,” answered the Hermit, (well 
known to the curious in penny-histories of Eobin Hood, by 
the name of Friar Tuck,) “it is not the crosier I fear, but 
the sceptre. — Alas ! that my sacrilegious fist should ever have 
been applied to the ear of the Lord’s anointed!” 

“Ha ! ha !” said Eichard, “sits the wind there ? — In truth 
I had forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung after it for a 
whole day. But if the cuff was fairly given, I will be judged 
by the good men around, if it was not as well repaid — or, if 
thou thinkest I still owe thee aught, and will stand forth for 
another counter-buff — ” 

‘ “By no means,” replied Friar Tuck; “I had mine own re- 
turned, and with usury — may your Majesty ever pay your 
debts as fully!” 

“If I could do so with cuffs,” said the King, “my creditors 
should have little reason to complain of an empty exchequer.” 

“And yet,” said the Friar, resuming his demure hypocriti- 
cal countenance, “I know not what penance I ought to perform 
for that most sacrilegious blow !” — 

“Speak no more of it, brother,” said the King; “after hav- 
ing stood so many cuffs from Paynims^ and misbelievers, I 
were void of reason to quarrel with the buffet of a clerk so 
holy as he of Copmanhurst. Yet, mine honest Friar, I think 
it would be best both for the church and thyself, that I should 

^ pagans. 


436 


IVANHOE. 


procure a license to unfrock thee, and retain thee as a yeoman 
of our guard, serving in care of our person, as formerly in 
attendance upon the altar of Saint Dunstan/^ 

^^My Liege,’^ said the Friar, humbly crave your pardon; 
and you would readily grant my excuse, did you but know 
how the sin of laziness has beset me. Saint Dunstan — ^may 
he be gracious to us! — stands quiet in his niche, though I 
should forget my orisons in killing a fat buck — I stay out 
of my cell sometimes a night, doing I wot not what — Saint 
Dunstan never complains — a quiet master he is, and a peace- 
ful, as ever was made of wood. — But to be a yeoman in attend- 
ance on my sovereign the King — the honour is great, doubtless 
— yet, if I were but to step aside to comfort a widow in one 
corner, or to kill a deer in another, it would be, ^Where is the 
dog Priest?’ says one. ^Who has seen the accursed Turk?’ 
says another. ‘The unfrocked villain destroys more venison 
than half the country besides,’ says one keeper ; ‘And is hunt- 
ing after every shy doe in the country!’ quoth a second. — In 
fine, good my Liege, I pray you to leave me as you found me ; 
or, if in aught you desire to extend your benevolence to me, 
that I may be considered as the poor Clerk of Saint Dunstan’s 
cell in Copmanhurst, to whom any small donation will be most 
thankfully acceptable.” 

‘T understand thee,” said the King, “and the Holy Clerk 
shall have a grant of vert and venison^ in my woods of Warn- 
cliffe. Mark, however, I will but assign thee three bucks every 
season; but if that do not prove an apology for thy slaying 
thirty, I am no Christian knight nor true king.” 

“Your Grace may be well assured,” said the Friar, “that, 
with the grace of Saint Dunstan, I shall find the way of multi- 
plying your most bounteous gift.” 

“I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said the King ; “and as 
venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have orders to deliver 
to thee a butt of sack, and a runlet of Malvoisie, and three 
hogsheads of ale of the first strike, yearly. — If that will not 
quench thy thirst, thou must come to court, and become 
acquainted with my butler.” 

“But for Saint Dunstan?” said the Friar — 

“A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also have,” 

’ liberty of the forest and right to hunt. 


IVANHOE. 


437 


continued the King, crossing himself. — ^^But we may not turn 
our game into earnest, lest God punish us for thinking more 
on our follies than on his honour and worship.^’ 

will answer for my patron,” said the Priest, joyously. 

Answer for thyself. Friar,” said King Richard, something 
sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand to the Her- 
mit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his knee, and saluted 
it. “Thou dost less honour to my extended palm than to my 
clenched fist,” said the Monarch; “thou didst only kneel to 
the one, and to the other didst prostrate thyself.” 

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence by 
continuing the conversation in too jocose a style — a false 
step to be particularly guarded against by those who converse 
with monarchs — bowed profoundly, and fell into the rear. 

At the same time, two additional personages appeared on 
the scene. 


CHAPTER XLI 

;AT THE TRYSTING-TREE. A SYLVAN REPAST. AT THE CASTLE OF 
CONINGSBURGH. ARRIVAL OP RICHARD AND IVANHOE. 

The new-comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the Prior of 
BotolpKs palfrey, and Gurth, who attended him, on the 
KnighPs own war-horse. The astonishment of Ivanhoe was 
beyond bounds, when he saw his master besprinkled with ' 
blood, and six or seven dead bodies lying around in the little 
glade in which the battle had taken place. Nor was he less 
surprised to see Richard surrounded by so many silvan attend- 
ants, the outlaws, as they seemed to be, of the forest, and a 
perilous retinue therefore for a prince. He hesitated whether 
to address the King as the Black Knight-errant, or in what 
other manner to demean himself towards him. Richard saw 
his embarrassment. 

“Fear not, Wilfred,” he said, “to address Richard Plantage- 
net as himself, since thou seest him in the company of true 
English hearts, although it may be they have been urged a 
few steps aside by warm English blood.” 

“Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,” said the gallant Outlaw, stepping 


438 


IVANHOE. 


forward, assurances can add nothing to those of our sov- 
ereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly, that of men who 
have suffered much, he hath not truer subjects than those who 
now stand around him.” 

“I cannot doubt it, brave man,” said Wilfred, ^^since thou 
art of the number. — But what mean these marks of death 
and danger? these slain men, and the bloody armour of my 
Prince ?” 

^^Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,” said the King ; ‘^^but, 
thanks to these brave men, treason hath met its meed.— But, 
now I bethink me, thou too art a traitor,” said Eichard, smil- 
ing ; ^^a most disobedient traitor ; for were not our orders posi- 
tive, that thou shouldst repose thyself at Saint Botolph^s until 
thy wound was healed?” 

‘^It is healed,” said Ivanhoe ; ‘ht is not of more consequence 
than the scratch of a bodkin. But why, oh why, noble Prince, 
will you thus vex the hearts of your faithful servants, and ex- 
pose 3^our life by lonely journeys and rash adventures, as if it 
were of no more value than that of a mere knight-errant, who 
has no interest on earth but what lance and sword may pro- 
cure him?” 

‘^And Eichard Plantagenet,” said the King, ^^desires no 
more fame than his good lance and sword may acquire him — 
and Eichard Plantagenet is prouder of achieving an adven- 
ture, with only his good sword, and his good arm to speed, than 
if he led to battle an host of an hundred thousand armed men.” 

‘^But your kingdom, my Liege,” said Ivanhoe, ^^your king- 
dom is threatened with dissolution and civil war — your sub- 
jects menaced with every species of evil, if deprived of their 
sovereign in some of those dangers which it is your daily pleas- 
ure to incur, and from which you have but this moment nar- 
rowly escaped.” 

^^Ho! ho! my kingdom and my subjects?” answered Eich- 
ard, impatiently; ‘^I tell thee. Sir Wilfred, the best of them 
are most willing to repay my follies in kind. — For example, 
my very faithful servant, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, will not obey 
my positive commands, and yet reads his king a homily, be- 
cause he does not walk exactly by his advice. Which of us 
has most reason to upbraid the other? — Yet forgive me, my 
faithful Wilfred. The time I have spent, and am yet to spend 


IVANHOE. 


439 


in concealment, is, as 1 explained to thee at Saint Botolph’s, 
necessary to give my friends and faithful nobles time to assem- 
ble their forces, that when Eichard^s return is announced, he 
should be at the head of such a force as enemies shall tremble 
to face, and thus subdue the meditated treason, without even 
unsheathing a sword. Estoteville and Bohun will not be 
strong enough to move forward to York for twenty-four hours. 
I must have news at Salisbury from the south ; and of Beau- 
champ, in Warwickshire; and of Multon and Percy in the 
north. The Chancellor must make sure of London. Too sud- 
den an appearance would subject me to dangers, other than 
my lance and sword, though backed by the bow of bold Eobin, 
or the quarter-staff of Friar Tuck, and the horn of the sage 
Wamba, may be able to rescue me from.’^ 

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain it was 
to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which so often 
impelled his master upon dangers which he might easily have 
avoided, or rather, which it was unpardonable in him to have 
sought out. The young knight sighed, therefore, and held 
his peace; while Eichard, rejoiced at having silenced his 
counsellor, though his heart acknowledged the justice of the 
charge he had brought against him, went on in conversation 
with Eobin Hood. — “King of Outlaws,” he said, “have you 
no refreshment to offer to your brother sovereign? for these 
dead knaves have found me both in exercise and appetite.” 

“In troth,” replied the Outlaw, “for I scorn to lie to your 
Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with — ” He stopped, 
and was somewhat embarrassed. 

“With venison, I suppose?” said Eichard, gaily; “better 
food at need there can be none — and truly, if a king will not 
remain at home and slay his own game, methinks he should 
not brawl too loud if he finds it killed to his hand.” 

“If your Grace, then,” said Eobin, “will again honour with 
your presence one of Eobin Hood^s places of rendezvous, the 
venison shall not be lacking; and a stoup of ale, and it may 
be a cup of reasonably good wine, to relish it withal.” 

The Outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the 
buxom Monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance meet- 
ing with Eobin Hood and his foresters, than he would have 
been in again assuming his royal state, and presiding over a 


440 


IVANHOE. 


splendid circle of peers and nobles. Novelty in society and 
adventure were the zest of life to Eichard Coeur-de-Lion, and 
it had its highest relish when enhanced by dangers encoun- 
tered and surmounted. In the lion-hearted King, the brilliant 
but useless character of a knight of romance was in a great 
measure realised and revived; and the personal glory which 
he acquired by his own deeds of arms, was far more dear to 
his excited imagination, than that which a course of policy 
and wisdom would have spread around his government. Ac- 
cordingly, his reign was like the course of a brilliant and 
rapid meteor, which shoots along the face of Heaven, shedding 
around an unnecessary and portentous light, which is instantly 
swallowed up by universal darkness; his feats of chivalry 
furnishing themes for bards and minstrels, but affording 
none of those solid benefits to his country on which history 
loves to pause and hold up as an example to posterity. But 
in his present company Eichard showed to the greatest imag- 
inable advantage. He was gay, good-humoured, and fond of 
manhood in every rank of life. 

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily pre- 
pared for the King of England, surrounded by men outlaws to 
his government, but who now formed his court and his guard. 
As the flagon went round, the rough foresters soon lost their 
awe for the presence of Majesty. The song and the jest were 
exchanged — the stories of former deeds were told with advan- 
tage; and at length, and while boasting of their successful 
infraction of the laws, no one recollected they were speaking 
in presence of their natural guardian. The merry King, 
nothing heeding his dignity any more than his company, 
laughed, quaffed, and jested among the jolly band. The natu- 
ral and rough sense of Eobin Hood led him to be desirous that 
the scene should be closed ere anything should occur to dis- 
turb its harmony, the more especially that he observed Ivan- 
hoe’s brow clouded with anxiety. ^‘We are honoured,^^ he said 
to Ivanhoe, apart, 'Ty the presence of our gallant Sovereign; 
yet I would not that he dallied with time, which the circum- 
stances of his kingdom may render precious.’^ 

^Tt is well and wisely spoken, brave Eobin Hood,^^ said Wil- 
fred, apart; “and know, moreover, that they who jest with 
Majesty even in its gayest mood, are but toying with the lion’s 


IVANHOE. 


441 


whelp, which, on slight provocation, uses both fangs and 
claws.” 

“You have touched the very cause of my fear,” said the 
Outlaw ; “my men are rough by practice and nature, the King 
is hasty as well as good-humoured ; nor know I how soon cause 
of offence may arise, or how warmly it may be received — it 
is time this revel were broken off.” 

“It must be by your management then, gallant yeoman,” 
said Ivanhoe ; “for each hint I have essayed to give him serves 
only to induce him to prolong it.” 

“Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my Sov- 
ereign?” said Eobin Hood, pausing for an instant; “but by 
Saint Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving his grace 
did I not peril it for his good. — Here, Scathlock, get thee 
behind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thy 
bugle, and without an instant’s delay, on peril of your lile.” 

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five minutes 
the revellers were startled by the sound of his horn. 

“It is the bugle of Malvoisin,” said the Miller, starting to 
his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped the fiagon, 
and grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopt short in the midst 
of a jest, and betook himself to sword and target. All the 
others stood to their weapons. 

Men of their precarious course of life change readily from 
the banquet to the battle; and, to Eichard, the exchange 
seemed but a succession of pleasure. He called for his helmet 
and the most cumbrous parts of his armour, which he had 
laid aside ; and while Gurth was putting them on, he laid his 
strict injunctions on Wilfred, under pain of his highest dis- 
pleasure not to engage in the skirmish which he supposed 
was approaching. 

“Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred, — 
and I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and see how 
Eichard will fight for his friend and liegeman.” 

In the meantime, Eobin Hood had sent off several of his 
followers in different directions, as if to reconnoitre the 
enemy; and when he saw the company effectually broken up, 
he approached Eichard, who was now completely armed, and, 
kneeling down on one knee, craved pardon of his Sovereign. 

“For what, good yeoman?” said Eichard, somewhat impa- 


442 


IVANHOE. 


tiently. ^^Have we not already granted thee a full pardon for 
all transgressions? Thinkest thou our word is a feather, to 
be blown backward and forward between us ? Thou canst not 
have had time to commit any new offence since that time?^^ 

“Ay, but I have though,” answered the yeoman, “if it be an 
offence to deceive my prince for his own advantage. The 
bugle you have heard was none of Malvoisin’s, but blown by 
my direction, to break off the banquet, lest it trenched upon 
hours of dearer import than to be thus dallied with.” 

He then rose from his knee, folded his arms on his bosom, 
and in a manner rather respectful than submissive, awaited 
the answer of the King, — like one who is conscious he may 
have given offence, yet is confident in the rectitude of his 
motive. The blood rushed in anger to the countenance of 
Eichard; but it was the first transient emotion, and his sense 
of justice instantly subdued it. 

“The King of Sherwood,” he said, “grudges his venison and 
his wine-flask to the King of England? It is well, bold 
Eobin! — but when you come to see me in merry London, I 
trust to be a less niggard host. Thou art right, however, good 
fellow. Let us therefore to horse and away — Wilfred has been 
impatient this hour. Tell me, bold Eobin, hast thou never 
a friend in thy band, who, not content with advising, will 
needs direct thy motions, and look miserable when thou dost 
presume to act for thyself?” 

“Such a one,” said Eobin, “is my Lieutenant, Little John, 
who is even now absent on an expedition as far as the borders 
of Scotland ; and I will own to your Majesty, that I am some- 
times displeased by the freedom of his councils — ^but, when I 
think twice, I cannot be long angry with one who can have no 
motive for his anxiety save zeal for his master’s service.” 

“Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Eichard ; “and if 
I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave advice, and 
recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, and thee, on the 
other, to trick me into what thou thinkest my own good, I 
should have as little the freedom of mine own will as any king 
in Christendom or Heathenesse. — But come, sirs, let us mer- 
rily on to Coningsburgh, and think no more on’t.” 

Eobin Hood assured them that he had detached a party in 
the direction of the road they were to pass, who would not 


IVANHOE. 


443 


fail to discover and apprize them of any secret ambuscade; 
and that he had little doubt they would find the ways secure, 
or, if otherwise, would receive such timely notice of the danger 
as would enable them to fall back on a strong troop of archers, 
with which he himself proposed to follow on the same route. 

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his safety 
touched Eichard’s feelings, and removed any slight grudge 
which he might retain on account of the deception the Outlaw 
Captain had practised upon him. He once more extended his 
hand to Kobin Hood, assured him of his full pardon and 
future favour, as well as his firm resolution to restrain the 
tyrannical exercise of the forest rights and other oppressive 
laws, by which so many English yeomen were driven into a 
state of rebellion. But Eichard^s good intentions towards the 
bold Outlaw were frustrated by the King’s untimely death; 
and the Charter of the Forest was extorted from the unwilling 
hands of King J ohn when he succeeded to his heroic brother. 
As for the rest of Eobin Hood’s career, as well as the tale of 
his treacherous death, they are to be found in those black- 
letter garlands^ once sold at the low and easy rate of one half- 
penny, 

“Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold.” 

The Outlaw’s opinion proved true; and the King, attended 
by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived without any interrup- 
tion, within view of the Castle of Coningsburgh, while the 
sun was yet in the horizon. 

There are few more beautiful or striking scenes in England, 
than are presented by the vicinity of this ancient Saxon for- 
tress. The soft and gentle river Don sweeps through an am- 
phitheatre, in which cultivation is richly blended with wood- 
land, and on a mount, ascending from the river, well defended 
by walls and ditches, rises this ancient edifice, which, as its 
Saxon name imples, was, previous to the Conquest, a royal 
residence of the kings of England. The outer walls have prob- 
ably been added by the Normans, but the inner keep bears 
token of very great antiquity. It is situated on a mount at 
one angle of the inner court, and forms a complete circle of 
perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter. The wall is of immense 
thickness, and is propped or defended by six huge external 

1 ballads in Gothic or Old English type. 


444 


IVANHOE. 


buttresses which project from the circle,, and rise up against 
the sides of the tower as if to strengthen or to support it. 
These massive buttresses are solid when they arise from the 
foundation, and a good way higher up ; but are hollowed out 
towards the top, and terminate in a sort of turrets communi- 
cating with the interior of the keep itself. The distant ap- 
pearance of this huge building, with these singular accompani^ 
ments, is as interesting to the lovers of the picturesque, as 
the interior of the castle is to the eager antiquary, whose 
imagination it carries back to the days of the heptarchy. A 
barrow,^ in the vicinity of the castle, is pointed out as the tomb 
of the memorable Hengist; and various monuments of great 
antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the neighbouring church- 
yard. 

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this rude 
yet stately building, it was not, as at present, surrounded by 
external fortifications. The Saxon architect had exhausted 
his art in rendering the main keep defensible, and there was 
no other circumvallation than a rude barrier of palisades. 

A huge black banner, which floated from the top of the 
tower, announced that the obsequies of the late owner were 
still in the act of being solemnised. It bore no emblem of the 
deceased^s birth or quality, for armorial bearings were then 
a novelty among the Norman chivalry themselves, and were 
totally unknown to the Saxons. But above the gate was 
another banner, on which the figure of a white horse, rudely 
painted, indicated the nation and rank of the deceased, by the 
well-known symbol of Hengist and his Saxon warriors. 

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion; for 
such funeral banquets were times of general and profuse hos- 
pitality, which not only every one who could claim the most 
distant connexion with the deceased, but all passengers what- 
soever, were invited to partake. The wealth and consequence 
of the deceased Athelstane occasioned this custom to be ob- 
served in the fullest extent. 

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and 
descending the hill on which the castle was situated; and 
when the King and his attendants entered the open and un- 
guarded gates of the external barrier, the space within pre- 

1 burial mound. 


IVANHOE. 


445 


sented a scene not easily reconciled with the cause of the 
assemblage. In one place cooks were toiling to roast huge 
oxen and fat sheep; in another, hogsheads of ale were set 
abroach/ to be drained at the freedom of all comers. Groups 
of every description were to be seen devouring the food and 
swallowing the liquor thus abandoned to their discretion. The 
naked Saxon serf was drowning the sense of his half-year’s 
hunger and thirst, in one day of gluttony and drunkenness — 
the more pampered burgess and guild-brother was eating his 
morsel with gust, or curiously criticising the quantity of the 
malt and the skill of the brewer. Some few of the poorer 
Norman gentry might also be seen, distinguished by their 
shaven chins and short cloaks, and not less so by their keep- 
ing together, and looking with great scorn on the whole solem- 
nity, even while condescending to avail themselves of the good 
cheer which was so liberally supplied. 

Mendicants were of course assembled by the score, together 
with strolling soldiers returned from Palestine, (according ot 
their own accounts at least), pedlars were displaying their 
wares, travelling mechanics were enquiring after employment, 
and wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels, and 
Welsh bards, were muttering prayers, and extracting mistuned 
dirges from their harps, crowds, and rotes.^ One sent forth 
the praises of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric; another, in 
a Saxon genealogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth and harsh 
names of his noble ancestry. Jesters and jugglers .were not 
wanting, nor was the occasion of the assembly supposed to 
render the exercise of their profession indecorous or improper. 
Indeed, the ideas of the Saxons on these occasions were as 
natural as they were rude. If sorrow was thirsty, there was 
drink — if hungry, there was food — if it sunk down upon and 
saddened the heart, here were the means supplied of mirth, 
or at least of amusement. Nor did the assistants scorn to 
avail themselves of those means of consolation, although, 
every now and then, as if suddenly recollecting the cause 
which had brought them together, the men groaned in unison, 
while the females, of whom many were present, raised up their 
voices and shrieked for very woe. 

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh 

^ on tap. 2 The crowd resembled a violin; the rote, a guitar. 


446 


IVANHOE. 


when it was entered by Eichard and his followers. The sene- 
schal or steward deigned not to take notice of the groups of 
inferior guests who were perpetually entering and withdraw- 
ing, unless so far as was necessary to preserve order ; neverthe- 
less he was struck by the good mien of the Monarch and 
Ivanhoe, more especially as he imagined the features of the 
latter were familiar to him. Besides, the approach of two 
knights, for such their dress bespoke them, was a rare event 
at a Saxon solemnity, and could not but be regarded as a 
sort of honour to the deceased and his family. And in his 
sable dress, and holding in his hand his white wand of office, 
this important personage made way through the miscellaneous 
assemblage of guests, thus conducting Eichard and Ivanhoe 
to the entrance of the tower. Gurth and Wamba speedily 
found acquaintances in the court-yard, nor presumed to in- 
trude themselves any farther until their presence should be 
required. 


CHAPTEE XLII 

ENTRANCE OP RICHARD AND IVANHOE INTO THE CASTLE. THE OB- 
SEQUIES? THE “PROMISED BOON.” APPARITION OF ATHEU- 
STANE. SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE OF IVANHOE, AND OF KING 
RICHARD. 

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh 
Castle is very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplicity 
of the early times in which it was erected. A flight of steps, 
so deep and narrow as to be almost precipitous, leads up to 
a low portal in the south side of the tower, by which the 
adventurous antiquary may still, or at least could a few years 
since, gain access to a small stair within the thickness of the 
main wall of the tower, which leads up to the third story of 
the building, — the two lower being dungeons or vaults, which 
neither receive air nor light, save by a square hole in the third 
story, with which they seem to have communicated by a 
ladder. The access to the upper apartments in the tower, 
which consist in all of four stories, is given by stairs which 
are carried up through the external buttresses. 

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good King 


IVANHOE. 


447 


Eichard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was ushered into 
the round apartment which occupies the whole of the third 
story from the ground. Wilfred, by the difficulties of the 
ascent, gained time to muffle his face in his mantle, as it had 
been held expedient that he should not present himself to 
his father until the King should give him the signal. 

There were assembled in this apartment, around a large 
oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguished repre- 
sentatives of the Saxon families in the adjacent counties. 
They were all old, at least, elderly men ; for the younger race, 
to the great displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe, 
broken down many of the barriers which separated for half- 
a-century the Norman victors from the vanquished Saxons. 
The downcast and sorrowful looks of these venerable men, 
their silence and their mournful posture, formed a strong 
contrast to the levity of the revellers on the outside of the 
eastle. Their grey locks and long full beards, together with 
their antique tunics and loose black mantles, suited well with 
the singular and rude apartment in which they were seated, 
and gave the appearance of a band of ancient worshippers 
of Woden, recalled to life to mourn over the decay of their 
national glory. 

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, seemed 
yet, by common consent, to act as chief of the assembly. Upon 
the entrance of Eichard (only known to him as the valorous 
Knight of the Fetterlock) he arose gravely, and gave him 
welcome by the ordinary salutation, Waes hael, raising at the 
same time a goblet to his head. The King, no stranger to 
the customs of his English subjects, returned the greeting 
with the appropriate words, Drinc hael, and partook of a cup 
which was handed to him by the sewer. The same courtesy 
was offered to Ivanhoe, who pledged his father in silence, 
supplying the usual speech by an inclination of his head, lest 
his voice should have been recognised. 

When this introductory ceremony was performed, Cedric 
arose, and, extending his hand to Eichard, conducted him into 
a small and very rude chapel, which was excavated, as it were, 
out of one of the external buttresses. As there was no open- 
ing, saving a very narrow loop-hole, the place would have been 
nearly quite dark but for two flambeaux or torches, which 


448 


IVANHOE. 


showed, by a red and smoky light, the arched roof and naked 
walls, the rude altar of stone, and the crucifix of the same 
material. 

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side of this 
bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, and muttered 
their prayers, with the greatest signs of external devotion. 
For this service a splendid soul-scaP- was paid to the convent of 
Saint Edmund’s by the mother of the deceased; and, that it 
might be fully deserved, the whole brethren, saving the lame 
Sacristan, had transferred themselves to Coningsburgh, where, 
while six of their number were constantly on guard in the per- 
formance of divine rites by the bier of Athelstane, the others 
failed not to take their share of the refreshments and amuse- 
ments which went on at the castle. In maintaining this pious 
watch and ward, the good monks were particularly careful 
not to interrupt their hymns for an instant, lest Zernebock, 
the ancient Saxon Apollyon, should lay his clutches on the 
departed Athelstane. Nor were they less careful to prevent 
any unhallowed layman from touching the pall, which, having 
been that used at the funeral of Saint Edmund, was liable 
to be desecrated, if handled by the profane. If, in truth, these 
attentions could be of any use to the deceased, he had some 
right to expect them at the hands of the brethren of Saint Ed- 
mund’s, since, besides a hundred mancuses of gold paid down 
as the soul-ransom, the mother of Athelstane had announced 
her intention of endowing that foundation with the better 
part of the lands of the deceased, in order to maintain per- 
petual prayers for his soul, and that of her departed husband. 

Eichard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into the 
apartment of death, where, as their guide pointed with solemn 
air to the untimely bier of Athelstane, they followed his exam- 
ple in devoutly crossing themselves, and muttering a brief 
prayer for the weal of the departed soul. 

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again motioned 
them to follow him, gliding over the stone fioor with a noise- 
less tread; and, after ascending a few steps, opened with great 
caution the door of a small oratory, which adjoined to the 
chapel. It was about eight feet square, hollowed, like the 
chapel itself, out of the thickness of the wall; and the loop- 

1 money paid for prayers for the departed. 


IVANHOE. 


449 


hole, which enlightened it, being to the west, and widening 
considerably as it sloped inward, a beam of the setting snn 
found its way into its dark recess, and showed a female of 
a dignified mien, and whose countenance retained the marked 
remains of majestic beauty. Her long mourning robes and 
her flowing wimple of black cypress^ enhanced the whiteness 
of her skin, and the beauty of her light-coloured and flowing 
tresses, which time had neither thinned nor mingled with 
silver. Her countenance expressed the deepest sorrow that 
is consistent with resignation. On the stone table before her 
stood a crucifix of ivory, beside which was laid a missal, hav- 
ing its pages richly illuminated, and its boards^ adorned with 
clasps of gold, and bosses^ of the same precious metal. 

“Noble Edith,” said Cedric, after having stood a moment 
silent, as if to give Eichard and Wilfred time to look upon 
the lady of the mansion, “these are worthy strangers, come 
to take a part in thy sorrows. And this, in especial, is the 
valiant Knight who fought so bravely for the deliverance of 
him for whom we this day mourn.” 

“His bravery has my thanks,” returned the lady ; “although 
it be the will of Heaven that it should be displayed in vain. 
I thank, too, his courtesy, and that of his companion, which 
hath brought them hither to behold the widow of Adeling, 
the mother of Athelstane, in her deep hour of sorrow and 
lamentation. To your care, kind kinsman, I intrust them, 
satisfied that they will want no hospitality which these sad 
walls can yet afford.” 

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent, and with- 
drew with their hospitable guide. 

Another winding stair conducted them to an apartment of 
the same size with that which they had first entered, occupy- 
ing indeed the same story immediately above. From this 
room, ere yet the door was opened, proceeded a low melan- 
choly strain of vocal music. When they entered, they found 
themselves in the presence of about twenty matrons and 
maidens of distinguished Saxon lineage. Four maidens, Eo- 
wena leading the choir, raised a hymn for the soul of the 
deceased, of which we have only been able to decipher two or 
three stanzas : — 

* flowing veil of black crape. * covers. * ornamental knobs. 


450 


IVANHOE, 


Dust unto dust, 

To this all must; 

The tenant hath resign’d 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe, 

Where flery pain 
Shall purge the stain 
Of actions done below. 

In that sad place. 

By Mary’s grace. 

Brief may thy dwelling be! 

Till prayers and alms. 

And holy psalms, 

Shall set the captive free. 

While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy tone, 
by the female choristers, the others were divided into two 
bands, of which one was engaged in bedecking, with such 
embroidery as their skill and taste could compass, a large 
silken pall, destined to cover the bier of Athelstane, while 
the others busied themselves in selecting, from baskets of 
flowers placed before them, garlands, which they intended for 
the same mournful purpose. The behaviour of the maidens 
was decorous, if not marked with deep affliction; hut now 
and then a whisper or a smile called forth the rebuke of the 
severer matrons, and here and there might be seen a damsel 
more interested in endeavouring to find out how her mourn- 
ing-robe became her, than in the dismal ceremony for which 
they were preparing. Neither was this propensity (if we 
must needs confess the truth) at all diminished by the appear- 
ance of two strange knights, which occasioned some looking 
up, peeping, and whispering. Eowena alone, too proud to be 
vain, paid her greeting to her deliverer with a graceful 
courtesy. Her demeanour was serious, but not dejected; and 
it may be doubted whether thoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the 
uncertainty of his fate, did not claim as great a share in 
her gravity as the death of her kinsman. 

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was not re- 


IVANHOE. 


451 


markably clear-sighted on such occasions, the sorrow of his 
ward seemed so much deeper than any of the other maidens, 
that he deemed it proper to whisper the explanation — ^^She 
was the affianced bride of the noble Athelstane/^ — It may be 
doubted whether this communication went a far way to 
increase Wilfred’s disposition to sympathise with the mourn- 
ers of Goningsburgh. 

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the different 
chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane were celebrated 
under different forms, Cedric conducted them into a small 
room, destined, as he informed them, for the exclusive accom- 
modation of honourable guests, whose more slight connexion 
with the deceased might render them unwilling to join those 
who were immediately affected by the unhappy event. He 
assured them of every accommodation, and was about to with- 
draw when the Black Knight took his hand. 

crave to remind you, noble Thane,” he said, ^That when 
we last parted, you promised, for the service I had the fortune 
to render you, to grant me a boon.” 

‘Tt is granted ere named, noble Knight,” said Cedric ; ^^yet, 
at this sad moment — ” 

‘^Of that also,” said the King, “I have bethought me — but 
my time is brief — ^neither does it seem to me unfit, that, when 
closing the grave on the noble Athelstane, we should deposit 
therein certain prejudices and hasty opinions.” 

^^Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,” said Cedric, colouring, 
and interrupting the King in his turn, trust your boon 
regards yourself and no other ; for in that which concerns the 
honour of my house, it is scarce fitting that a stranger should 
mingle.” 

‘^Kor do I wish to mingle,” said the King, mildly, ^ffinless 
in so far as you will admit me to have an interest. As yet you 
have known me but as the Black Knight of the Fetterlock — 
know me now as Eichard Plantagenet.” 

^^Eichard of Anjou !” exclaimed Cedric, stepping backward 
with the utmost astonishment. 

^^Ko, noble Cedric — Eichard of England! — whose deepest 
interest — whose deepest wish, is to see her sons united with 
each other. — And, how now, worthy Thane ! hast thou no knee 
for thy prince ?” 


452 


IVANHOE. 


“To Norman blood/^ said Cedric, “it hath never bended/^ 

“Eeserve thine homage then,^^ said the Monarch, “until I 
shall prove my right to it by my equal protection of Normans 
and English.” 

“Prince,” answered Cedric, “I have ever done justice to thy 
bravery and thy worth — nor am I ignorant of thy claim to 
the crown through thy descent from Matilda, niece to Edgar 
Atheling, and daughter to Malcolm of Scotland. But Matilda, 
though of the royal Saxon blood, was not the heir to the 
monarchy.” 

“I will not dispute my title with thee, noble Thane,” said 
Eichard, calmly; “but I will bid thee look around thee, and 
see where thou wilt find another to be put into the scale 
against it.” 

“And hast thou wandered hither. Prince, to tell me so?” 
said Cedric — “to upbraid me with the ruin of my race, ere 
the grave has closed o’er the last scion of Saxon royalty?” — 
His countenance darkened as he spoke. — “It was boldly — it 
was rashly done !” 

“Not so, by the holy rood!” replied the King; “it was done 
in the frank confidence which one brave man may repose in 
another, without a shadow of danger.” 

“Thou sayest well. Sir King — for King I own thou art, 
and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition. — I dare not take 
the only mode to prevent it, though thou hast placed the 
strong temptation within my reach!” 

“And now to my boon,” said the King, “which I ask not 
with one jot the less confidence, that thou hast refused to 
acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I require of thee, as a 
man of thy word, on pain of being held faithless, man-sworn, 
and nidering^ to forgive and receive to thy paternal affection 
the good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this reconciliation 
thou wilt own I have an interest — the happiness of my friend, 
and the quelling of dissension among my faithful people.” 

“And this is Wilfred !” said Cedric pointing to his son. 

“My father! — my father!” said Ivanhoe, prostrating him- 
self at Cedric’s feet, “grant me thy forgiveness !” 

“Thou hast it, my son,” said Cedric, raising him up. “The 
son of Hereward knows how to keep his word, even when it 

^ See note p. 147. 


IVANHOE. 


453 


has been passed to a Norman. But let me see thee use the 
dress and costume of thy English ancestry — no short cloaks, 
no gay bonnets, no fantastic plumage in my decent household. 
He that would be the son of Cedric, must show himself of 
English ancestry. — Thou art about to speak,’’ he added sternly, 
^^and I guess the topic. The Lady Eowena must complete two 
years’ mourning, as for a betrothed husband — all our Saxon 
ancestors would disown us were we to treat of a new union 
for her ere the grave of him she should have wedded — him, 
so much the most worthy of her hand by birth and ancestry — 
is yet closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would burst 
his bloody cerements, and stand before us to forbid such dis- 
honour to his memory.” 

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a spectre: for 
scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and Athel- 
stane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, 
pale, haggard, and like something arisen from the dead!- 

The effect of this apparition on the persons present was 
utterly appalling. Cedric started back as far as the wall of 
the apartment would permit, and, leaning against it as one 
unable to support himself, gazed on the flgure of his friend 
with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth which he appeared 
incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating 
prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman-French, as they occurred 
to his memory, while Eichard alternately said, Benedicite, 
and swore, Mort de ma vie! 

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below stairs, 
some crying, ^^Secure the treacherous monks !” — others, 
^^Down with them into the dungeon !” — others, “Pitch them 
from the highest battlements !” 

“In the name of God !” said Qedric, addressing what seemed 
the spectre of his departed friend, “if thou art mortal, speak ! 
— if a departed spirit, say for what cause thou dost revisit us, 
or if I can do aught that can set thy spirit at repose. — Living 
or dead, noble Athelstane, speak to Cedric !” 

“I will,” said the spectre, very composedly, “when I have 
collected breath, and when you give me time. — Alive, saidst 
thou ? — I am as much alive as he can be who has fed on bread 
and water for three days, which seem three ages. — Yes, bread 
and water. Father Cedric! By Heaven, and all saints in it. 


454 


IVANHOE. 


better food hath not passed my weasand for three live-long 
days, and by God’s providence it is that I am now here to 
tell it.” 

‘‘Why, noble Athelstane,” said the Black Knight, “I myself 
saw you struck down by the fierce Templar towards the end of 
the storm at Torquilstone, and as I thought, and Wamba 
reported, your skull was cloven through the teeth.” 

“You thought amiss. Sir Knight,” said Athelstane, “and 
Wamba lied. My teeth are in good order, and that my supper 
shall presently find. — Ko thanks to the Templar though, whose 
sword turned in his hand, so that the blade struck me flatlings, 
being averted by the handle of the good" mace with which I 
warded the blow ; had my steel-cap been on, I had not valued 
it a rush, and had dealt him such a counter-bluff as would 
have spoilt his retreat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, 
indeed, but unwounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten 
down and slaughtered above me, so that I never recovered 
my senses until I found myself in a coffin — (an open one by 
good luck) — placed before the altar of the church of Saint 
Edmund’s. I sneezed repeatedly — groaned — awakened, and 
would have arisen, when the Sacristan and Abbot, full of 
terror, came running at the noise, surprised, doubtless, and 
no way pleased to find the man alive, whose heirs they had 
proposed themselves to be. I asked for wine — they gave me 
some, but it must Ijave been highly medicated, for I slept yet 
more deeply than before, and awakened not for many hours. 
I found my arms swathed down — my feet tied so fast that 
mine ankles ache at the very remembrance — the place was 
utterly dark — the oubliette,^ as I suppose, of their accursed 
convent, and from the close, stifled, damp smell, I conceive 
it is also used for a place of sepulture. I had strange thoughts 
of what had befallen me, when the door of my dungeon 
creaked, and two villain monks entered. They would have 
persuaded me I was in purgatory, but I knew too well the 
pursy short-breathed voice of the Father Abbot. — Saint Jer- 
emy ! how different from that tone with which he used to ask 
me for another slice of the haunch ! — the dog has feasted with 
me from Christmas to Twelfth-night.” 

“Have patience, noble Athelstane,” said the King, “take 

^ secret dungeon. 


IVANHOE. 


455 


breath — tell your story at leisure — beshrew me but such a 
tale is as well worth listening to as a romance.” 

^^Ay but, by the rood of Bromeholm, there was no romance 
in the matter !” said Athelstane. — “A barley-loaf and a pitcher 
of water — that they gave me, the niggardly traitors, whom 
my father, and I myself, had enriched, when their best re- 
sources were the flitches of bacon and measures of corn, out 
of which they wheedled poor serfs and bondsmen, in exchange 
for their pra^^ers — the nest of foul ungrateful vipers — barley 
bread and ditch water to such a patron as I had been. I will 
smoke them out of their nest, though I be excommunicated !” 

“But in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane,” said 
Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend, “how didst thou 
escape this imminent danger? — did their hearts relent?” 

“Did their hearts relent!” echoed Athelstane. — “Do rocks 
melt with the sun? I should have been there still, had not 
some stir in the convent, which I find was their procession 
hitherward to eat my funeral feast, when they well knew 
how and where I had been buried alive, summoned the swarm 
out of their hive. I heard them droning out their death- 
psalms, little judging they were sung in respect for my soul 
by those who were thus famishing my body. They went, 
however, and I waited long for food — no wonder — the gouty 
Sacristan^ was even too busy with his own provender to mind 
mine. At length down he came, with an unstable step and 
a strong flavour of wine and spices about his person. Good 
cheer had opened his heart, for he left me a nook of pasty 
and a flask of wine, instead of my former fare. I ate, drank, 
and was invigorated; when, to add to my good luck, the 
Sacristan, too totty^ to discharge his duty of turnkey fitly, 
locked the door beside the staple, so that it fell ajar. The 
light, the food, the wine, set my invention to work. The 
staple to which my chains were fixed, was more rusted than 
I or the villain Abbot had supposed. Even iron could not 
remain without consuming in the damps of that infernal 
dungeon.” 

“Take breath, noble Athelstane,” said Eichard, “and par- 
take of some refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale so 
dreadful.” 


1 sexton. 


2 boozy. 


456 


IVANHOE. 


‘Tartake quoth Athelstane ; ^‘1 have been partaking five 
times to-day — and yet a morsel of that savoury ham were 
not altogether foreign to the matter ; and I pray you, fair sir, 
to do me reason in a cup of wine/^ 

The guests, though still agape with astonishment, pledged 
their resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded in his story : — 
He had indeed now many more auditors than those to whom 
it was commenced, for Edith, having given certain necessary 
orders for arranging matters within the Castle, had followed 
the dead-alive up to the stranger’s apartment, attended by as 
many of the guests, male and female, as could squeeze into the 
small room, while others, crowding the staircase, caught up an 
erroneous edition of the story, and transmitted it still more 
inaccurately to those beneath, who again sent it forth to the 
vulgar without, in a fashion totally irreconcilable to the real 
fact. Athelstane, however, went on as follows, with the his- 
tory of his escape: — 

‘binding myself freed from the staple, I dragged myself 
upstairs as well as a man loaded with shackles, and emaciated 
with fasting, might; and after much groping about, I was 
at length directed, by the sound of a jolly roundelay, to the 
apartment where the worthy Sacristan, an it so please ye, was 
holding a devil’s mass with a huge, beetle-browed, broad- 
shouldered brother of the grey frock and cowl, who looked 
much more like a thief than a clergyman. I burst in upon 
them, and the fashion of my grave-clothes, as well as the 
clanking of my chains, made me more resemble an inhabitant 
of the other world than of this. Both stood aghast ; but when 
I knocked down the Sacristan with my fist, the other fellow, 
his pot-companion, fetched a blow at me with a huge quarter- 
staff.” 

''This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count’s ransom,” said 
Eichard, looking at Ivanhoe. 

"He may be the devil, an he will,” said Athelstane. "For- 
tunately he missed the aim ; and on my approaching to grapple 
with him, took to his heels and ran for it. I failed not to 
set my own heels at liberty by means of the fetter-key, which 
hung amongst others at the sexton’s belt ; and I had thoughts 
of beating out the knave’s brains with the bunch of keys, but 
gratitude for the nook of pasty and the flask of wine which 


IVANHOE. 


457 


the rascal had imparted to my captivity, came over my heart ; 
so, with a brace of hearty kicks, I left him on the floor, 
pouched some baked meat, and a leathern bottle of wine, with 
which the two venerable brethren had been regaling, went to 
the stable, and found in a private stall mine own best palfrey, 
which, doubtless, had been set apart for the holy Father 
Abbot’s particular use. Hither I came with all the speed the 
beast could compass — man and mother’s son flying before me 
wherever I came, taking me for a spectre, the more especially 
as, to prevent my being recognised, I drew the corpse hood 
over my face. I had not gained admittance into my own 
castle, had I not been supposed to be the attendant of a 
juggler who is making the people in the castle-yard very 
merry, considering they are assembled to celebrate their lord’s 
funeral — I say the sewer thought I was dressed to bear a 
part in the tregetour’s^ mummery, and so I got admission, 
and did but disclose myself to my mother, and eat a hasty 
morsel, ere I came in quest of you, my noble friend.” 

^^And you have found me,” said Cedric, ‘^ready to resume 
our brave projects of honour and liberty. I tell thee, never 
will dawn a morrow so auspicious as the next, for the deliver- 
ance of the noble Saxon race.” 

“Talk not to me of delivering any one,” said Athelstane; 
“it is well I am delivered myself. I am more intent on pun- 
ishing that villain Abbot. He shall hang on the top of this 
Castle of Coningsburgh, in his cope and stole; and if the 
stairs be too strait to admit his fat carcass, I will have him 
craned^ up from without.” 

“But, my son,” said Edith, “consider his sacred office.” 

“Consider my three days’ fast,” replied Athelstane; “I will 
have their blood every one of them. Front-de-Boeuf was 
burnt alive for a less matter, for he kept a good table for his 
prisoners, only put too much garlic in his last dish of pottage. 
But these hypocritical, ungrateful slaves, so often the self- 
invited flatterers at my board, who gave me neither pottage 
nor garlic, more or less, they die, by the soul of Hengist !” 

“But the Pope, my noble friend,” — said Cedric — 

“But the devil, my noble friend,” — answered Athelstane; 

^ juggler’s. 2 raised up by a hoisting machine. 


458 


IVANHOE. 


^^they die, and no more of them. Were they the best monks 
upon earth, the world would go on without them.’^ 

‘^For shame, noble Athelstane,^^ said Cedric ; ^^forget such 
wretches in the career of glory which lies open before thee. 
Tell this Norman prince, Eichard of Anjou, that, lion-hearted 
as he is, he shall not hold undisputed the throne of Alfred, 
while a male descendant of the Holy Confessor lives to dis- 
pute it.^^ 

^^How said Athelstane, ‘hs this the noble King Eichard 

^Tt is Eichard Plantagenet himself,^^ said Cedric; ^^yet I 
need not remind thee that, coming hither a guest of free-will, 
he may neither be injured nor detained prisoner — thou well 
knowest thy duty to him as his host.’^ 

^^Ay, by my faith said Athelstane ; ^‘and my duty as a 
subject besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, heart 
and hand.” 

“My son,” said Edith, “think on thy royal rights!” 

“Think on the freedom of England, degenerate Prince!” 
said Cedric. 

“Mother and friend,” said Athelstane, “a truce to your up- 
braidings — thread and water and a dungeon are marvellous 
mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from the tomb a wiser man 
than I descended into it. One half of those vain follies were 
pulfed into mine ear by that perfidious Abbot Wolfram, and 
you may now judge if he is a counsellor to be trusted. Since 
these plots were set in agitation, I have had nothing but hur- 
ried journeys, indigestions, blows and bruises, imprisonments 
and starvation; besides that they can only end in the murder 
of some thousands of quiet folk. I tell you, I will be king in 
my own domains, and nowhere else ; and my first act of domin- 
ion shall be to hang the Abbnt.” 

“And my ward Eowena,” said Cedric — “I trust you intend 
not to desert her?” 

“Father Cedric,” said Athelstane, “be reasonable. The 
Lady Eowena cares not for me — she loves the little finger of 
my kinsman Wilfred’s glove better than my whole person. 
There she stands to avouch it. — Nay, blush not, kinswoman, 
there is no shame in loving a courtly knight better than a 
country franklin — and do not laugh neither, Eowena, for 
grave-clothes and a thin visage are, God knows, no matter 


IVANHOE. 


459 


of merriment. — Nay, an thou wilt needs laugh, I will find thee 
a better jest. Give me thy hand, or rather lend it me, for I 
but ask it in the way of friendship. — Here, cousin Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe, in thy favour I renounce and abjure — Hey! by 
Saint Dunstan, our cousin Wilfred hath vanished 1 — Yet, un- 
less my eyes are still dazzled with the fasting I have under- 
gone, I saw him stand there but even now.^^ 

All now looked around and enquired for Ivanhoe, but he 
had vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew had 
been to seek him; and that, after very brief conference, he 
had called for Gurth and his armour, and had left the castle. 

“Fair cousin,^^ said Athelstane to Eowena, ^^could I think 
that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was occasioned by 
other than the weightiest reason, I would myself resume — ” 

But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observing 
that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Eowena, who had found 
her situation extremely embarrassing, had taken the first op- 
portunity to escape from the apartment. 

^^Certainly,^^ quoth Athelstane, “women are the least to be 
trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. I am an 
infidel, if I expected not thanks from her, and perhaps a kiss 
to boot. — These cursed grave-clothes have surely a spell on 
them, every one flies from me. — To you I turn, noble King 
Eichard, with the vows of allegiance, which, as a liege-sub- 
ject—^’ 

But King Eichard was gone also, and no one knew whither. 
At length it was learned that he had hastened to the court- 
yard, summoned to his presence the J ew who had spoken with 
Ivanhoe, and after a moment’s speech with him, had called 
vehemently to horse, thrown himself upon a steed, compelled 
the Jew to mount another, and set off at a rate, which, ac- 
cording to Wamba, rendered the old Jew’s neck not worth 
a penny’s purchase. 

“By my halidom !” said Athelstane, “it is certain that 
Zernebock hath possessed himself of my castle in my absence. 
I return in my grave-clothes, a pledge restored from the very 
sepulchre, and every one I speak to vanishes as soon as they 
hear my voice! — But it skills not talking of it. Come, my 
friends — such of you as are left, follow me to the banquet- 
hall, lest any more of us disappear. It is, I trust, as yet toler- 


460 


IVANHOE. 


ably furnished, as becomes the obsequies of an ancient Saxon 
noble; and should we tarry any longer, who knows but the 
devil may fly off with the supper?” 


CHAPTEE XLIII 

AT TEMPLESTOWE — REBECCA’S FATEFUL DAY. THE “CHAMPION” 
COMES. BOIS-GUILBERT VANQUISHED. 

Our scene now returns to the exterior of the Castle, or Pre- 
ceptory, of Templestowe, about the hour when the bloody die 
was to be cast for the life or death of Eebecca. It was a 
scene of bustle and life, as if the whole vicinity had poured 
forth its inhabitants to a village wake, or rural feast. But 
the earnest desire to look on blood and death, is not peculiar 
to those dark ages; though in the gladiatorial exercise of 
single combat and general tourney, they were habituated to 
the bloody spectacle of brave men falling by each other’s 
hands. Even in our own days, when morals are better under- 
stood, an execution, a bruising match, a riot, or a meeting of 
radical reformers, collects, at considerable hazard to them- 
selves, immense crowds of spectators, otherwise little inter- 
ested, except to see how matters are to be conducted, or 
whether the heroes of the day are, in the heroic language of 
insurgent tailors, flints or dunghills. 

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude, were 
bent on the gate of the Preceptory of Templestowe, with the 
purpose of witnessing the procession ; while still greater num- 
bers had already surrounded the tilt-yard belonging to that 
establishment. This enclosure was formed on a piece of level 
"ground adjoining to the Preceptor}^ which had been levelled 
with care, for the exercise of military and chivalrous sports. 
It occupied the brow of a soft and gentle eminence, was care- 
fully palisaded around, and, as the Templars willingly invited 
spectators to be witnesses of their skill in feats of chivalry, 
was amply supplied with galleries and benches for their use. 

On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the Grand 
Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of distinction 
for the Preceptors and Knights of the Order. Over these 


IVANHOE. 


461 


floated the sacred standard, called Le Beau-seant, which was 
the ensign, as its name was the battle-cry, of the Templars. 

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of fagots, so ar- 
ranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground, as to leave 
a space for the victim whom they were destined to consume, 
to enter within the fatal circle, in order to be chained to the 
stake by the fetters which hung ready for that purpose. Be- 
side this deadly apparatus stood four black slaves, whose 
colour and African features, then so little known in England, 
appalled the multitude, who gazed on them as on demons 
employed about their own diabolical exercises. These men 
stirred not, excepting now and then, under the direction of 
one who seemed their chief, to shift and replace the ready 
fuel. They looked not on the multitude. In fact, they seemed 
insensible of their presence, and of everything save the dis- 
charge of their own horrible duty. And when, in speech with 
each other, they expanded their blubber lips, and showed their 
white fangs, as if they grinned at the thoughts of the expected 
tragedy, the startled commons could scarcely help believing 
that they were actually the familiar spirits with whom the 
witch had communed, and who, her time being out, stood 
ready to assist in her dreadful punishment. They whispered 
to each other, and communicated all the feats which Satan 
had performed during that busy and unhappy period, not 
failing, of course, to give the devil rather more than his due. 

^‘Have you not heard. Father Dennet,^’ quoth one boor to 
another advanced in years, “that the devil has carried away 
bodily the great Saxon Thane, Athelstane of Coningsburgh 

“Ay, but he brought him back though, by the blessing of 
God and Saint Dunstan.” 

“How’s that?” said a brisk young fellow, dressed in a green 
cassock embroidered with gold, and having at his heels a stout 
lad bearing a harp upon his back, which betrayed his voca- 
tion. The Minstrel seemed of no vulgar rank; for, besides 
the splendour of his gayly broidered doublet, he wore around 
his neck a silver chain, by which hung the wrest, or key, with 
which he tuned his harp. On his right arm was a silver plate, 
which, instead of bearing, as usual, the cognizance, or badge 
of the baron to whose family he belonged, had barely the word 
Sherwood engraved upon it. — “How mean you by that?” 


462 


IVANHOE. 


said the gay Minstrel, mingling in the conversation of the 
peasants; came to seek one subject for my rhyme, and, 
by’r Lady, I were glad to find two/’ 

^^It is well avouched,” said the elder peasant, “that after 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four weeks — ” 

“That is impossible,” said the Minstrel ; “I saw him in life 
at the Passage of Arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“Dead, however, he was, or else translated,” said the 
younger peasant; “for I heard the Monks of Saint Edmund’s 
singing the death’s hymn for him; and, moreover, there was 
a rich death-meal and dole^ at the Castle of Coningsburgh, as 
right was; and thither had I gone, but for Mabel Parkins, 
who — ” 

“Ay, dead was Athelstane,” said the old man, shaking his 
head, “and the more pity it was, for the old Saxon blood — ” 

“But, your story, my masters — your story,” said the Min- 
strel, somewhat impatiently. 

“Ay, ay — construe us the story,” said a burly Friar, who 
stood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited an appear- 
ance between a pilgrim’s staff and a quarter-staff, and prob- 
ably acted as either when occasion served. — “Your story,” said 
the stalwart churchman; ^d)urn not daylight about it — we 
have short time to spare.” 

“An please your reverence,” said Dennet, “a drunken priest 
came to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund’s — ” 

“It does not please my reverence,” answered the church- 
man, “that there should be such an animal as a drunken 
priest, or, if there were, that a layman should so speak him. 
Be mannerly, my friend, and conclude the holy man only 
wrapt in meditation, which makes the head dizzy and foot 
unsteady, as if the stomach were filled with new wine — I have 
felt it myself.” 

“Well, then,” answered Father Dennet, “a holy brother 
came to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund’s — a sort of 
hedge-priest is the visitor, and kills half the deer that are 
stolen in the forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better 
than the sacring-bell,^ and deems a flitch of bacon worth ten 
of his breviary ; for the rest, a good fellow and a merry, who 

1 money given in charity. 

2 bell rung at certain parts of the service of the mass or communion. 


IVANHOE. 


463 


will flourish a quarter-staff, draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire 
round, with e’er a man in Yorkshire.” 

^^That last part of thy speech, Dennet,” said the Minstrel, 
^^has saved thee a rib or twain.” 

^^Tush, man, I fear him not,” said Dennet; am some- 
what old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell and ram at 
Doncaster — ” 

^^But the story — the story, my friend,” again said the 
Minstrel. 

“Why, the tale is but this — Athelstane of Coningsburgh 
was buried at Saint Edmund’s.” 

“That’s a lie and a loud one,” said the Friar, “for I saw 
him borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.” 

“Yay, then, e’en tell the story yourself, my masters,” said 
Dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradictions; and 
it was with some difficulty that the boor could be prevailed 
on, by the request of his comrade and the Minstrel, to renew 
his tale. — “These two sober friars,” said he at length, “since 
this reverend man will needs have them such, had continued 
drinking good ale, and wine, and what not, for the best part 
of a summer’s day, when they were aroused by a deep groan, 
and a clanking of chains, and the flgure of the deceased Athel- 
stane entered the apartment, saying, ^Ye evil shepherds ! — ’ ” 

“It is false,” said the Friar, hastily, “he never spoke a 
word.” 

“So ho ! Friar Tuck,” said the Minstrel, drawing him apart 
from the rustics ; “we have started a new hare, I And.” 

“I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,” said the Hermit, “I saw Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever saw a living 
man. He had his shroud on, and all about him smelt of the 
sepulchre. — A butt of sack will not wash it out of my mem- 
ory.” 

“Pshaw!” answered the Minstrel; “thou dost but jest with 
me!” 

“Never believe me,” said the Friar, “an I fetched not a 
knock at him with my quarter-staff that would have felled an 
ox, and it glided through his body as it might through a 
pillar of smoke!” 

“By Saint Hubert,” said the Minstrel, ^ffiut it is a wondrous 


464 


IVANHOE. 


tale, and fit to be put in metre to the ancient tune, ^Sorrow 
came to the old Friar/ 

^^Laugh, if ye list,'^ said Friar Tuck; ^Tut an ye catch me 
singing on such a theme, may the next ghost or devil carry 
me off with him headlong! No, no — I instantly formed the 
purpose of assisting at some good work, such as the burning 
of a witch, a judicial combat, or the like matter of godly 
service, and therefore am I here/^ 

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church of 
Saint Michael of Templestowe, a venerable building, situated 
in a hamlet at some distance from the Preceptory, broke short 
their argument. One by one the sullen sounds fell successively 
on the ear, leaving but sufficient space for each to die away 
in distant echo, ere the ear was again filled by repetition of 
the iron knell. These sounds, the signal of the approaching 
ceremony, chilled with awe the hearts of the assembled multi- 
tude, whose eyes were now turned to the Preceptory, expecting 
the approach of the Grand Master, the champion, and the 
criminal. 

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and a 
knight, bearing the great standard of the Order, sallied from 
the castle, preceded by six trumpets, and followed by the 
Knights Preceptors, two and two, the Grand Master coming 
last, mounted on a stately horse, whose furniture was of the 
simplest kind. Behind him came Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but without his lance, 
shield, and sword, which were borne by his two esquires behind 
him. His face, though partly hidden by a long plume which 
floated down from his barret-cap,^ bore a strong and mingled 
expression of passion, in which pride seemed to contend with 
irresolution. He looked ghastly pale, as if he had not slept 
for several nights, yet reined his pawing war-horse with the 
habitual ease and grace proper to the best lance of the Order 
of the Temple. His general appearance was grand and com- 
manding; but, looking at him with attention, men read that 
in his dark features, from which they willingly withdrew their 
eyes. 

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet and Albert 
de Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the champion. They 

1 a kind of military cap. 


IVANHOE. 


465 


were in their robes of peace, the white dress of the Order. 
Behind them followed other Companions of the Temple, with 
a long train of esquires and pages clad in black, aspirants to 
the honour of being one day Knights of the Order. After 
these neophytes^ came a guard of warders on foot, in the same 
sable livery, amidst whose partisans might be seen the pale 
form of the accused, moving with a slow but undismayed step 
towards the scene of her fate. She was stript of all her orna- 
ments, lest perchance there should be among them some of 
those amulets which Satan was supposed to bestow upon his 
victims, to deprive them of the power of confession even when 
under the torture. A coarse white dress of the simplest form, 
had been substituted for her Oriental garments; yet there 
was such an exquisite mixture of courage and resignation in 
her look, that even in this garb, and with no other ornament 
than her long black tresses, each eye wept that looked upon 
her, and the most hardened bigot regretted the fate that had 
converted a creature so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and a 
waged slave of the devil. 

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the Preceptory 
followed the victim, all moving with the utmost order, with 
arms folded, and looks bent upon the ground. 

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence, on the 
summit of which was the tilt-yard, and, entering the lists, 
marched once around them from right to left, and when they 
had completed the circle, made a halt. There was then a mo- 
mentary bustle, while the Grand Master and all his attend- 
ants, excepting the champion and his godfathers, dismounted 
from their horses, which were immediately removed out of 
the lists by the esquires, who were in attendance for that 
purpose. 

The unfortunate Eebecca was conducted to the black chair 
placed near the pile. On her first glance at the terrible spot 
where preparations were making for a death alike dismaying 
to the mind and painful to the body, she was observed to 
shudder and shut her eyes, praying internally doubtless, for 
her lips moved though no speech was heard. In the space of 
a minute she opened her eyes, looked fixedly on the pile as if 

1 beginners, novices. 


466 


IVANHOE. 


to familiarise her mind with the object, and then slowly and 
naturally turned away her head. 

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat; and 
when the chivalry of his order was placed around and behind 
him, each in his due rank, a loud and long flourish of the 
trumpets announced that the Court were seated for judg- 
ment. Malvoisin, then, acting as godfather of the champion, 
stepped forward, and laid the glove of the Jewess, which was 
the pledge of battle, at the feet of the Grand Master. 

‘Valorous Lord, and reverend Father,^’ said he, ^^here 
standeth the good Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Knight 
Preceptor of the Order of the Temple, who, by accepting the 
pledge of battle which I now lay at your reverence^s feet, hath 
become bound to do his devoir in combat this day, to maintain 
that this Jewish maiden, by name Eebecca, hath justly de- 
served the doom passed upon her in a Chapter of this most 
Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, condemning her to die 
as a sorceress; — ^here, I say, he standeth, such battle to do 
knightly and honourable, if such be your noble and sanctifled 
pleasure.’’ 

^^Hath he made oath,” said the Grand Master, ^That his 
quarrel is just and honourable? Bring forward the cruciflx 
and the Te igitur/''^ 

“Sir, and most reverend father,” answered Malvoisin, read- 
ily, “our brother here present hath already sworn to the truth 
of his accusation in the hand of the good Knight Conrade de 
Mont-Fitchet ; and otherwise he ought not to be sworn, seeing 
that his adversary is an unbeliever, and may take no oath.” 

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert’s great joy; 
for the wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty, or rather 
impossibility, of prevailing upon Brian' de Bois-Guilbert, to 
take such an oath before the assembly, and had invented this 
excuse to escape the necessity of his doing so. 

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of Albert 
Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth and do his de- 
voir. The trumpets then again flourished, and a herald, step- 
ping forward, proclaimed aloud, — “Oyez, oyez, oyez.^ — Here 
standeth the good Knight Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ready 

^ Thee therefore; a book on which oaths were administered. 

2 hear ye, hear ye. hear ye. 


IVANHOE. 


467 


to do battle with any knight of free blood, who will sustain 
the quarrel allowed and allotted to the Jewess Eebecca, to 
try by champion, in respect of lawful essoine of her own 
body ; and to such champion the reverend and valorous Grand 
Master here present allows a fair field, and equal partition of 
sun and wind, and whatever else appertains to a fair combat/^ 
The trumpets again sounded, and there was a dead pause of 
many minutes. 

^‘No champion appears for the appellant,” said the Grand 
Master. ^‘^Go, herald, and ask her whether she expects any one 
to do battle for her in this her cause.” The herald went to 
the chair in which Eebecca was seated, and Bois-Guilbert, 
suddenly turning his horse’s head towards that end of the 
lists, in spite of hints on either side from Malvoisin and 
Mont-Fitchet, was by the side of Eebecca’s chair as soon as 
the herald. 

^Ts this regular, and according to the law of combat ?” said 
Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master. 

Albert de Malvoisin, it is,” answered Beaumanoir; “for 
in this appeal to the judgment of God, we may not prohibit 
parties from having that communication with each other, 
which may best tend to bring forth the truth of the quarrel.” 

In the meantime, the herald spoke to Eebecca in these 
terms: — “Damsel, the Honourable and Eeverend the Grand 
Master demands of thee, if thou art prepared with a cham- 
pion to do battle this day in thy behalf, or if thou dost yield 
thee as one justly condemned to a deserved doom?” 

“Say to the Grand Master,” replied Eebecca, “that I main- 
tain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly condemned, 
lest I become guilty of mine own blood. Say to him, that I 
challenge such delay as his forms will permit, to see if God, 
whose opportunity is in man’s extremity, will raise me up a 
deliverer; and when such uttermost space is passed, may His 
holy will be done !” The herald retired to carry this answer 
to the Grand Master. 

“God forbid,” said Lucas Beaumanoir, “that Jew or Pagan 
should impeach us of injustice! — Until the shadows be cast 
from the west to the eastward, will ye wait to see if a cham- 
pion shall appear for this unfortunate woman. When the 
day is so far passed, let her prepare for death.” 


468 


IVANHOE. 


The herald communicated the words of the Grand Master 
to Eebecca, who bowed her head submissively, folded her arms, 
and, looking up towards heaven, seemed to expect that aid 
from above which she could scarce promise herself from man. 
During this awful pause, the voice of Bois-Guilbert broke 
upon her ear — it was but a whisper, yet it startled her more 
than the summons of the herald had appeared to do. 

^^Kebecca,” said the Templar, ^^dost thou hear me?’^ 

‘T have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted man,^^ said 
the unfortunate maiden. 

^^Ay, but dost thou understand my words?’’ said the Tem- 
plar; ^Tor the sound of my voice is frightful in mine own 
ears. I scarce know on what ground we stand, or for what 
purpose they have brought us hither. — This listed space — 
that chair — these fagots — I know their purpose, and yet it 
appears to me like something unreal — the fearful picture of 
a vision, which appals my sense with hideous fantasies, but 
convinces not my reason.” 

^‘My mind and senses keep touch and time,” answered Re- 
becca, “and tell me alike that these fagots are destined to 
consume my earthly body, and open a painful but a brief 
passage to a better world.” 

“Dreams, Rebecca, — dreams,” answered the Templar; “idle 
visions, rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser Sadducees.^ 
Hear me, Rebecca,” he said, proceeding with animation; “a 
better chance hast thou for life and liberty than yonder knaves 
and dotard dream of. Mount thee behind me on my steed — 
on Zamour, the gallant horse that never failed his rider. I 
won him in single fight from the Soldan of Trebizond — 
mount, I say, behind me — in one short hour is pursuit and 
enquiry far behind — a new world of pleasure opens to thee — 
to me a new career of fame. Let them speak the doom which 
I despise, and erase the name of Bois-Guilbert from their 
list of monastic slaves ! I will wash out with blood whatever 
blot they may dare to cast on my scutcheon.” 

“Tempter,” said Rebecca, “begone !— Not in this last ex- 
tremity canst thou move me one hair’s-breath from my rest- 
ing-place — surrounded as I am by foes, I hold thee as my 

* Jewish sect who denied the immortality of the soul. 


IVANHOE. 


469 


^orst and most deadly enemy — avoid thee, in the name of 
God!’’ 

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the duration 
of their conference, now advanced to interrupt it. 

^‘Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt?” he demanded 
of Bois-Guilbert ; ‘^or is she resolute in her denial?” 

‘^She is indeed resolute/' said Bois-Guilbert. 

‘^Then,” said Malvoisin, ^^must thou, noble brother, resume 
thy place to attend the issue. The shades are changing on 
the circle of the dial — come, brave Bois-Guilbert — come, thou 
hope of our holy Order, and soon to be its head.” 

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand on the 
knight’s bridle, as if to lead him back to his station. 

^Talse villain! what meanest thou by thy hand on my 
rein?” said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off his compan- 
ion’s grasp, he rode back to the upper end of the lists. 

^^There is yet spirit in him,” said Malvoisin apart to Mont- 
Fitchet, ^Vere it well directed — but, like the Greek fire, it 
burns whatever approaches it.” 

The Judges had now been two hours in the lists, awaiting 
in vain the appearance of a champion. 

^^And reason good,” said Friar Tuck, ^^seeing she is a Jew- 
ess — and yet, by mine Order, it is hard that so young and 
beautiful a creature should perish without one blow being 
struck in her behalf! Were she ten times a witch, provided 
she were but the least bit of a Christian, my quarter-staff 
should ring noon on the steel cap of yonder fierce Templar, 
ere he carried the matter off thus.” 

It was, however, the general belief that no one could or 
would appear for a Jewess, accused of sorcery; and the 
knights, instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each other, 
that it was time to declare the pledge of Eebecca forfeited. 
At this instant a knight, urging his horse to speed, appeared 
on the plain advancing towards the lists. A hundred voices 
exclaimed, ‘^^A champion ! a champion !” And despite the pre- 
possessions and prejudices of the multitude, they shouted 
unanimously as the knight rode into the tilt-yard. The second 
glance, however, served to destroy the hope that his timely 
arrival had excited. His horse, urged for many miles to its 
utmost speed, appeared to reel from fatigue, and the rider. 


470 


IVANHOE. 


however undauntedly he presented himself in the lists, either 
from weakness, weariness, or both, seemed scarce able to sup- 
port himself in the saddle. 

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, his 
name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered readily and 
boldly, ^T am a good knight and noble, come hither to sus- 
tain with lance and sword the just and lawful quarrel of this 
damsel, Eebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the 
doom pronounced against her to be false and truthless, and 
to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a traitor, murderer, 
and liar; as I will prove in this field with my body against 
his, by the aid of God, of Our Lady, and of Monseigneur Saint 
George, the good knight.’^ 

^^The stranger must first show,” said Malvoisin, “that he 
is good knight, and of honourable lineage. The Temple 
sendeth not forth her champions against nameless men.” 

“My name,” said the knight, raising his helmet,- “is better 
known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine own. I 
am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.” 

“I will not fight with thee at present,” said the Templar, 
in a changed and hollow voice. “Get thy wounds healed, 
purvey thee a better horse, and it may be I will hold it worth 
my while to scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravade.” 

“Ha ! proud Templar,” said Ivanhoe, “hast thou forgotten 
that twice didst thou fall before this lance? Eemember the 
lists at Acre — remember the Passage of Arms at Ashby — 
remember thy proud vaunt in the halls of Eotherwood, and 
the gage of your gold chain against my reliquary, that thou 
wouldst do battle with Wilfred of Ivanhoe, and recover the 
honour thou hadst lost ! By that reliquary, and the holy relic 
it contains, I will proclaim thee. Templar, a coward in every 
court in Europe — in every Preceptory of thine Order — unless 
thou do battle without farther delay.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely towards 
Eebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, 
“Dog of a Saxon! take thy lance, and prepare for the death 
thou hast drawn upon thee !” 

“Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?” said 
Ivanhoe. 

“I may not deny what thou hast challenged,” said the Grand 


IVANHOE. 


471 


Master, ^^provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion. 
Yet I would thou were in better plight to do battle. An 
enemy of our Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have 
thee honourably met with.^’ 

^ ‘^Thus — thus as I am, and not otherwise,^^ said Ivanhoe ; 
^^it is the judgment of God — to His keeping I commend my- 
self* — Rebecca,^^ said he, riding up to the fatal chair, ‘^dost 
thou accept of me for thy champion 

do,^’ she said — ‘^1 do,^^ fluttered by an emotion which 
the fear of death had been unable to produce, do accept 
thee as the champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no 
— no — thy wounds are uncured. — Meet not that proud man 
— why shouldst thou perish also?’^ 

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed his 
visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same; 
and his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his 
face, wljich had, notwithstanding the variety of emotions by 
which he had been agitated, continued during the whole morn- 
ing of an ashy paleness, was now become suddenly very much 
flushed. 

The herald, then, seeing each champion in his place, up- 
lifted his voice, repeating thrice — “Faites vos devoirs, preux 
chevaliers After the third cry, he withdrew to one side of 
the lists, and again proclaimed, that none, on peril of instant 
death, should dare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with 
or disturb this fair field of combat. The Grand Master, who 
held in his hand the gage of battle, Rebecca’s glove, now 
threw it into the lists, and pronounced the fatal signal words, 
Laissez aller. 

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other 
in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less 
exhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, before the 
well-aimed lance and vigorous steed of the Templar. This 
issue of the combat all had foreseen; but although the spear 
of Ivanhoe did but, in comparison, touch the shield of Bois- 
Guilbert, that champion, to the astonishment of all who be- 
held it, reeled in his saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the 
lists. 

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was soon 
on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; but 


472 


IVANHOE. 


his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his 
breast, and the sword^s point to his throat, commanded him 
to yield him, or die on the spot. Bois-Gnilbert returned no 
answer. 

^^Slay him not. Sir Knight, cried the Grand Master, 
^^unshriven and unabsolved — kill not body and soul! We 
allow him vanquished.’^ 

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to unhelm 
the conquered champion. His eyes were closed — the dark 
red flush was still on his brow. As they looked on him in 
astonishment, the eyes opened — ^but they were fixed and 
glazed. The flush passed from, his brow, and gave way to the 
pallid hue of death. Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, 
he had died a victim to the violence of his own contending 
passions. 

^^This is indeed the judgment of God,” said the Grand 
Master, looking upwards — ''Fiat voluntas tuaT 


CHAPTEE XLIV. 

AT TEMPLESTOWE — THE BLACK KNIGHT GALLOPS IN. EXERCISES HIS 
REGAL FUNCTIONS. REBECCA AND HER FATHER DEPART. AT 
CONINGSBURGH. “TWO OBSTACLES.” THE NUPTIALS. INTER- 
VIEW OF REBECCA AND ROWENA. 

When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the field, 
if he had manfully and rightfully done his duty in the com- 
bat? 

^^Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,” said the 
Grand Master ; pronounce the maiden free and guiltless. — 
The arms and the body of the deceased knight are at the will 
of the victor.” 

will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the Knight of 
Ivanhoe, ^^nor condemn his corpse to shame — he hath fought 
for Christendom — God’s arm, no human hand, hath this day 
struck him down. But let his obsequies be private, as be- 
comes those of a man who died in an unjust quarrel. — And 
for the maiden — ” 

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, advanc- 


IVANHOE. 


473 


ing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the ground 
before them; and the Black Knight galloped into the lists. 
He was followed by a numerous band of men-at-arms, and 
several knights in complete armour. 

“I am too late,” he said, looking around him. “I had 
doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property. — Ivanhoe, was 
this well, to take on thee such a venture, and thou scarce able 
to keep thy saddle?” 

“Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “hath taken this 
proud man for its victim. He was not to be honoured in 
dying as your will had designed.” 

“Peace be with him,” said Eichard, looking steadfastly on 
the corpse, “if it may be so — he was a gallant knight, and has 
died in his steel harness full knightly. But we must waste no 
time — Bohun, do thine office !” 

A knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, and, 
laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, 
“I arrest thee of High Treason.” 

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the 
appearance of so many warriors. — He now spoke. 

“Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple of Zion, 
within the girth of his own Preceptory, and in the presence 
of the Grand Master? and by whose authority is this bold 
outrage offered?” 

“I make the arrest,” replied the knight — “I, Henry Bohun, 
Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable of England.” 

“And he arrests Malvoisin,” said the King, raising his 
visor, “by the order of Eichard Plantagenet, here present. — 
Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born no 
subject of mine. — But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest with thy 
brother Philip, ere the world be a week older.” 

“I will resist thy doom,” said the Grand Master. 

“Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not — look 
up, and behold the Eoyal Standard of England floats over 
thy towers instead of thy Temple banner! — Be wise, Beau- 
manoir, and make no bootless opposition. Thy hand is in the 
lion’s mouth.” 

“I will appeal to Eome against thee,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter, “for usurpation on the immunities and privileges of our 
Order.” 


474 


IVANHOE. 


it so/^ said the King; ‘^but for thine own sake tax me 
not with usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, and depart 
with thy followers to thy next Preceptory, (if thou canst find 
one,) which has not been made the scene of treasonable con- 
spiracy against the King of England. Or, if thou wilt, re- 
main, to share our hospitality, and behold our justice.^^ 

^‘To be a guest in the house where I should command?’^ 
said the Templar ; ^^never ! — Chaplains, raise the Psalm, Quare 
fremuerunt Gentesf^ — Knights, squires, and followers of the 
Holy Temple, prepare to follow the banner of Beau-seant T 
The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which confronted 
even that of England's king himself, and inspired courage 
into his surprised and dismayed followers. They gathered 
around him like sheep around the watch-dog, when they hear 
the baying of the wolf. But they evinced not the timidity of 
the scared flock — there were dark brows of defiance, and looks 
which menaced the hostility they dared not to proffer in 
words. They drew together in a dark line of spears, from 
which the white cloaks of the knights were visible among the 
dusky garments of their retainers, like the lighter-coloured 
edges of a sable cloud. The multitude, who had raised a 
clamorous shout of reprobation, paused and gazed in silence 
on the formidable and experienced body to which they had 
unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from their front. 

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their 
assembled force, dashed the rowels into his charger’s sides, 
and galloped backwards and forwards to array his followers, 
in opposition to a band so formidable. Eichard alone, as if 
he loved the danger his presence had provoked, rode slowly 
along the front of the Templars, calling aloud, “What, sirs! 
Among so many gallant knights, will none dare splinter a 
spear with Eichard? — Sirs of the Temple! your ladies are 
but sun-burned,2 if they are not worth the shiver of a broken 
lance !” 

“The Brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, rid- 
ing forward in advance of their body, “fight not on such idle 
and profane quarrel — and not with thee, Eichard of England, 
shall a Templar cross lance in my presence. The Pope and 

^ Why do the nations rage? Psalms ii ; 1. 

2 and therefore not beautiful enough to fight for.| 


IVANHOE. 


475 


Princes of Europe shall judge our quarrel, and whether a 
Christian prince has done well in bucklering the cause which 
thou hast to-day adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing 
no one. To thine honour we refer the armour and household 
goods of the Order which we leave behind us, and on thy con- 
science we lay the scandal and offence thou hast this day 
given to Christendom.^^ 

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the Grand 
Master gave the signal of departure. Their trumpets sounded 
a wild march, of an Oriental character, which formed the 
usual signal for the Templars to advance. They changed 
their array from a line to a colunm of march, and moved off 
as slowly as their horses could step, as if to show it was only 
the will of their Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing 
and superior force, which compelled them to withdraw. 

“By the splendour of Our Lady’s brow!” said King Eich- 
ard, “it is pity of their lives that these Templars are not so 
trusty as they are disciplined and valiant.” 

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till the 
object of its challenge has turned his back, raised a feeble 
shout as the rear of the squadron left the ground. 

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the Tem- 
plars, Eebecca saw and heard nothing — she was locked in the 
arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost senseless, with the 
rapid change of circumstances around her. But one word 
from Isaac at length recalled her Scattered feelings. 

“Let us go,” he said, “my dear daughter, my recovered 
treasure — let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of the good 
youth.” 

“Not so,” said Eebecca, “0 no — no — no — I must not at 
this moment dare to speak to him.^ — Alas ! I should say more 
than — No, my father, let us instantly leave this evil place.” 

“But, my daughter,” said Isaac, “to leave him who hath 
come forth like a strong man with his spear and shield, hold- 
ing his life as nothing, so he might redeem thy captivity ; and 
thou, too, the daughter of a people strange unto him and his — 
this is service to be thankfully acknowledged.” 

“It is — it is — most thankfully — most devoutly acknowl- 

1 What reasons can you suggest why she had such strong objection to her 
father’s proposal? 


476 


IVANHOE. 


edged/^ said Eebecca — shall be still more so — ^but not now 
— for the sake of thy beloved Eachel, father, grant my request 
— not now !” 

‘^Nay, hut” said Isaac, insisting, ^^they will deem ns more 
thankless than mere dogs 

‘^Bnt thon seest, my dear father, that King Eichard is in 
presence, and that — ” 

^^Trne, my best — my wisest Eebecca ! — Let ns hence — let 
ns hence ! — Money he will lack, for he has jnst returned from 
Palestine, and, as they say, from prison — and pretext for 
exacting it, should he need any, may arise out of my simple 
traffic with his brother John. Away, away, let us hence I” 

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted her 
from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he had 
provided, transported her safely to the house of the Eabbi 
Kathan. 

The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal inter- 
est of the day, having now retired unobserved, the attention of 
the populace was transferred to the Black Knight. They now 
filled the air with ‘^Long life to Eichard with the Lion’s 
Heart, and down with the usurping Templars !” 

^^Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,” said Ivanhoe to the 
Earl of Essex, ^fit was well the King took the precaution to 
bring thee with him, noble Earl, and so many of thy trusty 
followers.” 

The Earl smiled and shook his head. 

^^Gallant Ivanhoe,” said Essex, ^ffiost thou know our Master 
so well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a precaution ! 
I was drawing towards York, having heard that Prince John 
was making head there, when I met King Eichard, like a true 
knight-errant, galloping hither to achieve in his own person 
this adventure of the Templar and the Jewess, with his own 
single arm. I accompanied him with my band, almost maugre 
his consent.” 

^^And what news from York, brave Earl?” said Ivanhoe; 
^^will the rebels bide us there?” 

^‘No more than December’s snow will bide July’s sun,” 
said the Earl; “they are dispersing; and who should come 
posting to bring us the news, but John himself!” 


IVANHOE. 


m 

^^The traitor! the ungrateful insolent traitor!’^ said Ivan- 
hoe; ‘‘did not Eichard order him into confinement?^^ 

“0 ! he received him/^ answered the Earl, “as if they had 
met after a hunting party ; and, pointing to me and our men- 
at-arms, said, ‘Thou seest, brother, I have some angry men 
with me — thou wert best to go to our mother, carry her my 
duteous affection, and abide with her until men^s minds are 
pacified/ ” 

“And this was all he said enquired Ivanhoe ; “would not 
any one say that this Prince invites men to treason by his 
clemency 

“Just,^^ replied the Earl, “as the man may be said to invite 
death, who undertakes to fight a combat, having a dangerous 
wound unhealed/^ 

“I forgive thee the jest. Lord Earl,’^ said Ivanhoe; “but, 
remember, I hazarded but my own life — Eichard, the welfare 
of his kingdom/^ 

“Those,^^ replied Essex, “who are specially careless of their 
own welfare, are seldom remarkably attentive to that of others. 
— But let us haste to the castle, for Eichard meditates punish- 
ing some of the subordinate members of the conspiracy, 
though he has pardoned their principal.” 

From the judicial investigations which followed on this 
occasion, and which are given at length in the War dour Manu- 
script, it appears that Maurice de Bracy escaped beyond seas, 
and went into the service of Philip of France; while Philip 
de Malvoisin, and his brother Albert, the Preceptor of Temple- 
stowe, were executed, although Waldemar Fitzurse, the soul 
of the conspiracy, escaped with banishment ; and Prince J ohn, 
for whose behoof it was undertaken, was not even censured 
by his good-natured brother. No one, however, pitied the fate 
of the two Malvoisins, who only suffered the death which they 
had both well deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, 
and oppression. 

Briefly, after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was 
summoned to the court of Eichard, which, for the purpose 
of quieting the counties that had been disturbed by the 
ambition of his brother, was then held at York. Cedric 
tushed and pshawed more than once at the message — but he 
refused not obedience. In fact, the return of Eichard had 


478 


IVANHOE. 


quenched every hope that he had entertained of restoring a 
Saxon dynasty in England; for, whatever head the Saxons 
might have made in the event of a civil war, it was plain that 
nothing could be done under the undisputed dominion of 
Eichard, popular as he was by his personal good qualities and 
military fame, although his administration was wilfully care- 
less, now too indulgent, and now allied to despotism. 

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s reluctant 
observation, that his project for an absolute union among the 
Saxons, by the marriage of Eowena and Athelstane, was now 
completely at an end, by the mutual dissent of both parties 
concerned. This was, indeed, an event which, in his ardour 
for the Saxon cause, he could not have anticipated, and even 
when the disinclination of both was broadly and plainly mani- 
fested, he could scarce bring himself to believe that two Sax- 
ons of royal descent should scruple, on personal grounds, at an 
alliance so necessary for the public weal of the nation. But 
it was not the less certain; Eowena had always expressed her 
repugnance to Athelstane, and now Athelstane was no less 
plain and positive in proclaiming his resolution never to pur- 
sue his addresses to the Lady Eowena. Even the natural 
obstinacy of Cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, where he, 
remaining on the point of junction, had the task of dragging 
a reluctant pair up to it, one with each hand. He made, 
however, a last vigorous attack on Athelstane, and he found 
that resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like coun- 
try squires of our own day, in a furious war with the clergy. 

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the Abbot 
of Saint Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of revenge, what be- 
tween the natural indolent kindness of his own disposition, 
what through the prayers of his mother Edith, attached, like 
most ladies, (of the period,) to the clerical order, had ter- 
minated in his keeping the Abbot and his monks in the dun- 
geons of Coningsburgh for three days on a meagre diet. For 
this atrocity the Abbot menaced him with excommunication, 
and made out a dreadful list of complaints in the bowels and 
stomach, suffered by himself and his monks, in consequence 
of the tyrannical and unjust imprisonment they had sustained. 
With this controversy, and with the means he had adopted to 
counteract this clerical persecution, Cedric found the mind 


IVANHOE. 


479 


of his friend Athelstane so fully occupied that it had no room 
for another idea. And when Kowena’s name was mentioned, 
the noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full goblet to her 
health, and that she might soon be the bride of his kinsman 
Wilfred. It was a desperate case therefore. There was obvi- 
ously no more to be made of Athelstane; or, as Wamba 
expressed it, in a phrase which has descended from Saxon 
times to ours, he was a cock that would not fight. 

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination 
which the lovers desired to come to, only two obstacles — his 
own obstinacy, and his dislike of the Norman dynasty. The 
former feeling gradually gave way before the endearments of 
his ward, and the pride which he could not help nourishing 
in the fame of his son. Besides, he was not insensible to the 
honour of allying his own line to that of Alfred, when the 
superior claims of the descendant of Edward the Confessor 
were abandoned forever. Cedric’s aversion to the Norman 
race of kings was also much undermined, — first, by considera- 
tion of the impossibility of ridding England of the new 
dynasty, a feeling which goes far to create loyalty in the sub- 
ject to the king de facto; and, secondly, by the personal 
attention of King Eichard, who delighted in the blunt humour 
of Cedric, and, to use the language of the War dour Manu- 
script, so dealt with the noble Saxon, that, ere he had been 
a guest at court for seven days, he had given his consent to 
the marriage of his ward Eowena and his son Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe. 

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by his 
father, were celebrated in the most august of temples, the 
noble Minster of York. The King himself attended, and from 
the countenance which he afforded on this and other occasions 
to the distressed and hitherto degraded Saxons, gave them a 
safer and more certain prospect of attaining their just rights, 
than they could reasonably hope from the precarious chance 
of a civil war. The Church gave her full solemnities, graced 
with all the splendour which she of Eome knows how to apply 
with such brilliant effect. 

Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon his 
young master whom he had served so faithfully, and the mag- 
nanimous Wamba, decorated with a new cap and a most gor- 


480 


IVANHOE. 


geous set of silver bells. Sharers of Wilfred’s dangers and 
adversity, they remained, as they had a right to expect, the 
partakers of his more prosperous career. 

But besides the domestic retinue, these distinguished nup- 
tials were celebrated by the attendance of the high-born Nor- 
mans, as well as Saxons, joined with the universal jubilee of 
the lower orders, that marked the marriage of two individuals 
as a pledge of the future peace and harmony betwixt two 
races, which, since that period, have been so completely min- 
gled, that the distinction has become wholly invisible. Cedric 
lived to see this union approximate towards its completion; 
for as the two nations mixed in society and formed inter- 
marriages with each other, the Normans abated their scorn, 
and the Saxons were refined from their rusticity. But it was 
not until the reign of Edward the Third^ that the mixed lan- 
guage, now termed English, was spoken at the court of Lon- 
don, and that the hostile distinction of Norman and Saxon 
seems entirely to have disappeared. 

It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, 
that the Lady Eowena was made acquainted by her handmaid 
Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her presence, and 
solicited that their parley might be without witness. Eowena 
wondered, hesitated, became curious, and ended by command- 
ing the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants to withdraw. 

She entered — a noble and commanding figure, the long 
white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather 
than concealing the elegance and majesty of her shape. Her 
demeanour was that of respect, unmingled by the least shade 
either of fear, or of a wish to propitiate favour. Eowena was 
ever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to the feel- 
ings, of others. She arose, and would have conducted her 
lovely visitor to a seat; but the stranger looked at Elgitha, 
and again intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Eow- 
ena alone. Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps, 
than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant 
kneeled on one knee, pressed her hands to her forehead, and 
bending her head to the ground, in spite of Eowena’s resist- 
ance kissed the embroidered hem of her tunic. 

* reigned from 1327 to 1371. 


IVANHOE. 


481 


^^What means this, lady T’ said the surprised bride ; ^^or why 
do you offer to me a deference so unusual?” 

^‘Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe,” said Eebecca, rising 
up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her manner, 
may lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude 
which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I am — forgive the bold- 
ness which has offered to you the homage of my country — I 
am the unhappy Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded 
his life against such fearful odds in the tilt-yard of Temple- 
stowe.” 

^‘Damsel,” said Eowena, ‘^Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that day 
rendered back but in slight measure your unceasing charity 
towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. Speak, is there 
aught remains in which he or I can serve thee ?” 

‘‘Nothing,” said Eebecca, calmly, “unless you will transmit 
to him my grateful farewell.” 

“You leave England, then?” said Eowena, scarce recover- 
ing the surprise of this extraordinary visit. 

“I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father 
hath a brother high in favour with Mohammed Boabdil, King 
of Grenada — thither we go, secure of peace and protection, 
for the pa3rment of such ransom as the Moslem exact from 
our people.” 

“And are you not then as well protected in England?” 
said Eowena. “My husband has favour with the King — the 
King himself is just and generous.” 

“Lady,” said Eebecca, “I doubt it not — but the people of 
England are a fierce race, quarrelling ever with their neigh- 
bours or among themselves, and ready to plunge the sword 
into the bowels of each other. Such is no safe abode for the 
children of my people. Ephraim is an heartless dove — Issa- 
char an over-laboured drudge, which stoops between two bur- 
dens.^ Not in a land of war and blood, surrounded by hostile 
neighbours, and distracted by internal factions, can Israel 
hope to rest during her wanderings.” 

“But you, maiden,” said Eowena — “you surely can have 
nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe,” 
she continued, rising with enthusiasm — “she can have nothing 

* Hosea vii: 11, and Genesis xlix: 14, 15. 


482 


IVANHOE. 


to fear in England, where Saxon and Norman will contend 
who shall most do her honour/’ 

''Thy speech is fair, lady,” said, Eebecca, "and thy purpose 
fairer ; but it may not be — there is a gulf betwixt us. Our 
breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it. Fare- 
well — yet, ere I go, indulge me one request. The bridal-veil 
hangs over thy face; deign to raise it, and let me see the fea- 
tures of which fame speaks so highly.” 

"They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said Eow- 
ena ; "but, expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the 
veil.” She took it off accordingly; and, partly from the con- 
sciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so 
intensely, that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused 
with crimson. Eebecca blushed also, but it was a momentary 
feeling ; and, mastered by higher emotions, passed slowly from 
her features like the crimson cloud, which changes colour 
when the sun sinks beneath the horizon. 

"Lady,” she said, "tli^ countenance you have deigned to 
show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There reigns 
in it gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the world’s 
pride or vanities may mix with an expression so lovely, how 
should we chide that which is of earth for bearing some colour 
of its original? Long, long will I remember your features, 
and bless God that I leave my noble deliverer united 
with — ” 

She stopped short — ^her eyes filled with tears. She hastily 
wiped them, and answered to the anxious enquiries of Eowena 
— "1 am well, lady — well. But my heart swells when I think 
of Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe. — Farewell. 
One, the most trifling part of my duty, remains undischarged. 
Accept this casket — startle not at its contents.” 

Eowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and per- 
ceived a carcanet, or necklace, with ear- jewels of diamonds 
which were obviously of immense value. 

"It is impossible,” she said, tendering back the casket. "I 
dare not accept a gift of such consequence.” 

"Yet keep it, lady,” returned Eebecca. — "You have power, 
rank, command, influence ; we have wealth, the source both of 
our strength and weakness ; the value of these toys, ten times 
multiplied, would not influence half so much as your slightest 


IVANHOE. 


483 


wish. To you, therefore, the gift is of little value, — and to 
me, what I part with is of much less. Let me not think you 
deem so wretchedly ill of my nation as your commons^ believe. 
Think ye that I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above 
my liberty? or that my father values them in comparison to 
the honour of his only child ? Accept them, lady — to me they 
are valueless. I will never wear jewels more.^’ 

‘‘You are then unhappy!’^ said Eowena, struck with the 
manner in which Eebecca uttered the last words. “0, remain 
with us — the counsel of holy men will wean you from your 
erring law, and I will be a sister to you.” 

“No, lady,” answered Eebecca, the same calm melancholy 
reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features — “that may 
not be. I may not change the faith of my fathers like a 
garment unsuited to the climate in which I seek to dwell, and 
unhappy, lady, I will not be. He, to whom I dedicate my 
future life, will be my comforter, if I do His will.” 

“Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to 
retire?” asked Eowena. 

“No, lady,” said the Jewess; “but among our people, since 
the time of Abraham downwards, have been women who have 
devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their actions to works 
of kindness to men, tending the sick, feeding the hungry, and 
relieving the distressed. Among these will Eebecca be num- 
bered. Say this to thy lord, should he chance to enquire after 
the fate of her whose life he saved.” 

There was an involuntary tremor on Eebecca^s voice, and a 
tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she 
would willingly have expressed. She hastened to bid Eowena 
adieu. 

“Farewell,” she said. “May He, who made both Jew and 
Christian, shower down on you His choicest blessings ! The 
bark that wafts us hence will be under weigh ere we can reach 
the port.” 

She glided from the apartment, leaving Eowena surprised 
as if a vision had passed before her. The fair Saxon related 
the singular conference to her husband, on whose mind it made 
a deep impression. He lived long and happy with Eowena, 
for they were attached to each other by the bonds of early 

* your people. 


484 


IVANHOE. 


affection, and they loved each other the more, from the recol- 
lection of the obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet 
it would be enquiring too curiously to ask, whether the recol- 
lection of Eebecca’s beauty and magnanimity did not recur to 
his mind more frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred 
might altogether have approved. 

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Eichard, 
and was graced with farther marks of the royal favour. He 
might have risen still higher, but for the premature death of 
the heroic Coeur-de-Lion, before the Castle of Chaluz, near 
Limoges. With the life of a generous, but rash and romantic 
monarch, perished all the projects which his ambition and 
his generosity had formed; to whom may be applied, with a 
slight alteration, the lines composed by Johnson for Charles 
of Sweden^ — 

His fate was destined to a foreign strand, 

A petty fortress and a humble” hand; 

He left the name at which the world grew pale, 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 

^ Charles XII of Sweden after a bril- the first line, Scott has substituted for- 
liant career lost his life in battle (1718). eign for6a7Ten and in the second, humble 
The lines quoted are from Johnson’s for dubious. Tale is made to refer to 
“The Vanity of Human Wishes.” In Ivanhoe by putting it in capitals. 







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